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MOTHER-PLAY
AND NURSERY SONGS
loctrg, lllirsic antr llicttTrfS
FOR THE
NOBLE CULTURE OF CHILD LIFE
WITH NOTES TO MOTHERS
BY
FRIEDRICH FROEBEL
L
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN BY FANNIE E. DWIGHT AND JOSEPHINE JARVIS
EDITED BY ELIZABETH P. PEABODY
CONTAINING ALL THE ORIGINAL MUSIC AND FINGER EXERCISES
WITH FACSIMILES OF OVER FIFTY ENGRAVINGS
FROM THE AUTHOR'S EDITION
BOSTON
LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.
^
LIBR«HV of CONGRESS
Two Cipiu RKtIved
SEk 27 1906
Cl/SS J XXC. N..
COFVKlCiHT, 1878, BY LEE AND ShEPARD.
Copyright, igo6, by Josephine J akvis.
Mother-Play.
xf
M us I \ ■ / ,
Aoc.no.
Berwick & Smith Co., Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
m-
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
Vignette Title Plate i
American Preface 7
German Preface (translated) 8
The Mother in Unity with her Child ... 9
Mother's Self-Communings 11
Music — Introductory Song 13
Play with the Limbs 17
Falling, Falling 18
Music — Play with the Limhs; Falling, Falling . ig
The Weather-vane 21
All's Gone 23
Music — Weather-vane, and All's Gone ... 25
Song of Taste 26
Song of Smell . . 27
Music — Song of Taste 29
Tick-tack 31
Music — Tick-tack 33
Grass-mowing 35
Ueckon to the Chickens 37
Music — Grass-mowing 39
Beckon to the Pigeons 41
Fishes 43
The Target; or, Lengthwise, Crosswise ... 45
Music — Beckon to the Pigeons; Fishes; The Tar-
get, or Lengthwise, Crosswise 47
Pat-a-cake 49
The Bird's Nest 51
Music — Pat-a-cake, and The Little Nest ... 53
The Flower-basket 55
The Pigeon-house 57
Music — The Flower-basket, and The Pigeon-house. 59
This Little Thumb 61
Music — This Little Thumb 63
The Finger Game 65
Grandmother and Mother ,67
The Little Thumb is One 69
The Piano-Forte 70
Up and Down the Fingers Go . . . .^ . 71
Brothers and Sisters 73
Music — Finger-song, and Grandmamma ... 75
Music — Mother, Good and Dear; The Little Thumb
is One; The Piano-forte 76
Music — Brothers and Sisters 77
TACZ
Children at the Tower ....... 78
Child and the Moon 81
Boy and the Moon 82
Little Maiden and the Stars. . . . . .84
The Light-bird on the Wall 87
Music — The Light-bird on the Wall . . . . 89
The Rabbit 51
Music — The Rabbit 93
Wolf and Wild Boar 95-97
The Little Window 99
The Window loi
Music — Wolf and Wild Boar 103
Music — Little Window, and Window . . . .104
Charcoal Burner 105
Music — Charcoal Burner 107
The Carpenter 109
Music — The Carpenter m
The Bridge 113
The Barn-yard Gate nj
The Garden Gate 117
The Little Gardener ng
Music — The Bridge, and Barn-yard Gate . . .121
Music — Little Gardener 122
The Wheelwright 123
The Joiner 125
Music — Song of Perfume, and The V^^heelwright . 127
Music — The Joiner 128
The Knights and Good Child 129
Music — The Knights and Good Child. . . .131
The Knights and Ill-humored Child .... 133
Music — The Knights and Ill-humored Child . . 135
Child, Hide Thee .... ... 137
Music — Child, Hide Thee 139
Hiding of the Child 141
Music — Hide 143
Coo-coo 145
The Toyman and the Maiden 146
The Toyman and Boy 148
Church-door and Window ...... 150
Music — The Cuckoo 153
The Little Artist 155
Music — Conclusion 157
Notes to Mothers. 159
5
AMERICAN PREFACE.
BY ELIZABETH P. PEABODY.
'T'HIS book, nalque in the world's literature, is brought
out in America in answer to a wide demand of American
mothers. Froebel was born in Germany ; but he was truly
cosmopolitan in spirit, and recognized that in America, where
the nations have come together at last to understand one
another, instead of meeting, as hitherto, to prey upon each
other, the self-activity of universal childhood can best be
cultivated for self-direction and self-government ; inasmuch
as the first word of our nationality was, is, and ever shall be,
" all men are created free and equal."
The only perfect guardian and cherisher of free self-activi-
ty is the mother's love, who respects it in her own child by
an instinct deeper than all thought, restraining her own self-
will, and calling out a voluntary obedience (the only obedience
worthy of the name), because it proceeds from hearts that
" the forms of j'oung imagination have kept pure " (to quote
the English poet, whose psychology of childhood is identical
with Froebel's, (see Wordsworth's Ode on the Intimations
of Immortality in Childhood).
In this study into the divine meaning of the instinctive,
spontaneous plays of childhood, it was Froebel's purpose to
elevate the mother's instinct into insight, and thereby purify
it from idiosyncratic infirmities ; so that she might see, in the
unconscious play of the child, the same laws working that
make the archangel in his heavenly sphere ; even as the same
laws that whirl the planets in their vast orbits guide the
stone flung from a child's hand. Thus she would see, that, to
make the child's play hearty and enjoyable, it must be kept
so by her companionship and sympathy; and compass the
childish aim successfully by her suggesting the laws of order
which are not yet evolved in the child's own mind, but which
orderly playing will develop, to guide the life forever after.
into communion with the wisdom, love, and power of GoA
When this lesson is fully learned, and faithfully applied in
education by mothers and their assistant kindergartners,
who build the bridge between the mother's nursery and the
schools of instruction, the demoralizing chaos, in which we
seem to have been living for ages, will give way to a paradise
more than regained, because glorified by that union of Love
and Thought, as companions using the highway of human
life, of which our own Emerson has sung,
** Who know one only mortal grief,
Past all balsam and relief.
When, by false companions crossed,
The travellers have each other lost."
Some persons have foolishly suggested that there must be
a difference between an American and German kindergarten.
But the kindergarten, true to the one nature of childhood,
is irrespective of all local circumstances. Generosity, self-
respect, courtesy and reverence, spontaneous geometry,
rhythmical motion, music, and plastic art, are universal as
humanity; and it is these which make the kindergarten one
and the same in all countries. Besides, so far as this book
is redolent of the subjectivity of German life, it is a salutary
contrast to the extreme objectivity of the American life;
and the connection of opposites is the law of the complete,
well-balanced life, that we are in pursuit of for our children
and ourselves.
We particularly call attention to Miss Fanny E. Dwight's
rendering of the German songs into English, at once literal
and graceful, and adapted to the cadences of the music.
Miss Josephine Jarvis's faithful translation of the prose is
also commended.
PREFACE TO THE SECOND GERMAN EDITION.
BY DR. WICHARD LANGE.
■pROEBEL'S mother-songs are here offered to the public
in their ori'^inal form. It has been often remarked, that
both tlie poetry and the illustrations might be improved ; and
we do not deny it. But wlio could alter them, without at the
same time injuring the spirit which breathes through the
whole? We have not to do here with disconnected stories
and pictures. What we have before us is one whole, woven
together with great ingenuity and skill : it is a leaf taken
from German family life. In this book we have an example
of that true spirit which regards earthly life as the fore-
shadowing of a much higher e.xistence, the man as the
highest development, and the child as a bud upon the tree
of humanity containing within itself the germ of the whole.
We see a rejoicing mother who deems herself supremely
blest, because she recognizes that from her has sprung the
Divine image in human form; and that she is admitted to
take active part in the gradual development of tlie eternal in
the mortal, of the unending in the transitory, in short, of
the divme in the human. In faith she receives her first-
born, as a gift direct from Heaven; embraces him fondly;
tends him in hope; and, while happy in the contemplation of
her darling, does not forget to tliank Him who is the ulti-
mate source of all life. Hence she strives to open her
child's mind gradually to the world around him; she
touches the tiny hands, the little legs and feet, and the soft
head of her darling, giving names to each limb ; she leads
on the awakening mind to objects in nearest contact with
his body, then to liunian life, then to nature, and finally to
heavenly things. She brings before him pictures and repre-
sentations exciting feelings, developing notions, and unfold-
ing the spirit of her child in the likeness and image of God.
The care and gradual education of children naturally de-
volve upon woman, who is especially gifted, nay, inspired
for this work, and whose love encompasses the child from
the hour of its birth ; who guides all his first steps, and is
herself moulded and formed anew while moulding and form-
ing him. She must devote her experience to the task,
throwing herself heart and soul into her mission (education),
and remaining faithful to it till death ; shrinking from no
privation, no sacrifice, and fearing neither opposition nof
scorn from the ignorant outside world.
The book before us is not a complete mode of education,
not a formal system of early /csso/ts for children ; but it is a
moral ivliole, woven and held together by one prevailing fun
damental Idea, and impressing wonderfully all those who
are open to its influence ; a whole which arouses all dormant
inclinations for good left by a healthy education ; a whole
which awakens those purposes, thoughts, and resolutions
which lead to salvation of heart ; a whole which points out
the way the mother must follow, if she would solve her prac-
tical problems irrespective of the criticism of a noisy mate-
rial world. With this spirit, and from this standpoint, the
mother will make her influence sensibly felt. For love only
is the motive power and effectual working-lever in educa-
tion.
May every mother, therefore, avail herself of this book as
a partner in her labors, and receive it joyfully as a treasure
for her family !
Introductory Song.
THE MOTHER IN UNITY WITH HER CHILD.
•\QH child of my heart, so fair and so dear!
^^ All softly the light of knowledge shines here.
What glows now so warm, thy infant form flushing,
And kindles my spirit, like spring's early blushing.?
Pure FAITH it is, enthroned on thy brow,
That thou a mother's shelter shall know.
Pure LOVE it is, in thy laughing eyes.
That light to the mother's soul supplies :
Bright HOPE it is that throbs in thy breast,
And makes for the mother life's fountain blessed.
Oh, come then, my darling ! each other viewing,
We'll live in springs of life renewing.
Whatever the heart of the child requiretli,
The mother's heart alike desireth ;
And surely thy faith, thy hope, thy love.
Shall cherished be by spirits above !
Through hoping, believing, and loving 'tit given
To feel the blessings and joys of heaven.
9
MOTHER'S SELF-COMMUNINGS.
FEELINGS OF A MOTHER ON BEHOLDING
HER FIRST-BORN CHILD.
i^ GOD, my God ! in making me a wife,
eS- Thou'st crowned me with the noblest joy of life ;
And now thy greatest gift thou sendest me :
An angel child have I received from thee.
O husband, father! thank our God above
For this fair token of our purest love :
All do we find in this our first-born son,
That in eternity shall make us one.
Though born in pain, take now thy peaceful rest,
My darling child, upon thy mother's breast :
Thee will we guard, 'mid earth's perpetual strife.
Thou crown and sweet renewal of our life.
O God, our Father ! life's eternal source !
Grant thou that pure and straight may be his course.
We all thy children are : oh, let one love
Unite us all with thee in realms above !
THE MOTHER HAPPY IN THE CONTEMPLA-
TION OF HER CHILD.
Who can the mother's bliss express
When playing with her infant boy?
Beameth with love each fond caress,
A bliss transcending earthly joy !
Then love most tender is, and all foreseeing.
Caring for nought but her dear child's well-being.
My baby, my baby, come whisper to me.
Why all is so dear and enchanting in thee.
Why is it, that, dancing and tossing my boy,
I discover each instant an ever new joy?
Thy fair head is like the fresh budding flower.
Crowned with the dews of the sweet morning hour.
As stainless and pure as the new-fallen snow.
Unspoiled and sinless shines forth thy young brow,
As the blossom sheds perfume around on the air,
So thou fillest my heart with a joy rich and rare.
Awakened by an infant's kiss.
Mother's joy is deepest bliss !
Thy cheeks, soft as velvet, so healthy and rosy.
Are tinged with the glow of a midsummer posy;
As shines the bright sun from the deep azure sky,
So thy sunshiny spirit beams forth from thy eye,
And the innocent smiles that are flashing on me
Rivet firmer the chain that has bound me to thee.
Yea, truly, my child, from the hour of thy birth,
Thou'st been less like a mortal than angel on earth.
Already I see a foundation of strength '
That the trials of life will conquer at length ;
E'en now I can trace in thy form frail and young.
Contained in the feeble, the germ of the strong.
Though sown now in weakness, self-conquest I see.
Which gladdens my heart erst so tender for thee !
On my life there arises a happier morn :
I am purer and better since my darling was born.
To tend thee, to cherish my baby, my boy,
'Tis bliss, 'tis delight, 'tis my heart of heart's joy.
THE MOTHER WHILE PLAYING WITH HER
CHILD.
The mother draws from gazing on her boy
The truest, sweetest, deepest of all joy ;
And, knowing well the fulness of that bliss.
Preserves for him life's greatest happiness.
O baby, sweet baby, my true love for thee
Is purer and brighter than pearls of the sea !
And shall I, my darling one, shall I now show thee
By what signs for my own dearest baby I know thee ?
This is the little head: when it is weary,
Kind mother's hand will support it, my deary.
Here are the forehead, and eyes opened wide.
Filling mother's fond heart with pleasure and pride;
And here are the cheeks, like the white and red rose.
That gently against mother's shoulder repose;
Here is the tiny and delicate ear.
Soon baby will listen sweet music to hear.
This is the small nose ; and here is the mouth
That must never speak any thing else but the truth ,
Here are the lips, like the red coralline,
So often already pressed close against mine ;
Here is the little round chin, rosy and small.
With the dimple that mother loves better than all ;
And this is the little face, winning and fair.
Encircled with ringlets of bright golden hair;
Here is the tender neck, snowy and round :
Ah, where could ever such another be found?
The throat that keeps baby's head steady is this.
So fat and so tempting for mother to kiss ;
And this is the back that gives promise of strength
When baby shall grow up to manhood at length.
These are the fingers and hands made for play :
My darling shall learn how to use them one day.
And these are — my sweet one — thy dear little arms ;
Feel how mother's embrace her babe comforts and warms,
And this is the heaving and well-moulded chest,
(My little one ought to have health of the best);
How calmly the innocent heart lieth there;
May it never be burdened by sorrow or care !
May it ever be pure as the bright summer skies,
Or as the first glances of infantine eyes !
Soon, soon, will it feel hidden fountains of life:
May they never be troubled by anger and strife !
See, here is one leg. and again here is one :
How long will it be ere thou walk quite alone?
\nd these are the rosy and fat little feet :
To good, not to ill, may they carry my sweet !
These arc the ankles, and these are the knees,
Which shall wade in the water as much as they please:
These balls on the feet, they are called baby's toes,
See, here tliey are. ten of them, placed in two rows.
And now all my darling's dear parts I have told.
He will sjjring from my lap when about a year old:
Soon after among other children he'll find
Some food to improve and to strengthen his mind;
Of which even now the beginnings I see.
And which shall be nurtured in silence by me.
THE MOTHER WATCHING THE DEVELOP.
MENT OF HER CHILD.
Watching the daily progress of her child,
The mother prays, "God keep him undefiled !
Cjuide him whene'er the tempest rages wild."
Yet she must do her best,
If hopeful she would rest
Llpon the Father's breast.
Oh ! come and see my little one, -
A flower first opening to the sun ,
The curly ]5ate so round and fair.
The forehead smooth, and free from care.
liright are my baby's eyes ; his ears, ere long,
Shall listen for the sound of mother's song;
His little nose shall smell the flowers bright ;
His mouth drink milk each morning, noon, and night.
His cheeks are rosy with refreshing slumber,
Dinted by laughing dimples without number.
Oil ! so fair and bright is he.
Should he not my treasure be ?
His hands he learns to ope and clasp,
His fingers just begin to grasp.
With pleasure now he takes his ball.
Loves it, and will not let it fall.
So strong my baby's arms are grown.
That he can wave them up and down ;
And even sometimes he is able
To bound his ball upon the table.
His legs begin to jump so high
As if he wished to reach the sky.
My child ! 'tis life, the heavenly power,
That makes thee stronger every hour ;
'Tis mine to guard and mine to guide
This life, my pleasure and my pride ;
For in the joy of life at length
My child will learn to know his strength, —
Will learn that he must work and strive,
If he would well and nobly live.
THE MOTHER AND HER CHILD STANDING
ON HER LAP OR RESTING IN HER ARMS.
Happy the motlier striving day by day
To train her child by loving, healthful play !
How happy she who by her inward light
Expands and warms the human blossom bright!
For where the sun in greatest glory plays.
Thither the fiower turns to catch his rays.
My baby ! ope those eyes of azure deep ;
For mother through them to thy heart would creep,
While thou with rosy lips upon me smilest,
With cherub laughter weary thoughts beguilest.
Give me thy little mouth, that by a kiss
Thou mayest gently seal thy mother's bliss ;
Reach me thy hands so fair and soft and round,
Two chains by which fond mother may be bound ;
Throw round my neck thy plump, caressing arm,
To keep me with its loving pressure warm ;
Show me, too, thy ear so fair.
And little head with downy hair, —
That my child, in love's warm light,
May grow up as the lily white.
Free from spot and free from stain,
On life's cloud-traversed, verdant plain !
Plant firm thy feeble feet upon thy mother's lap :
What joy to feel her near thee always, whatsoe'er may hap !
She aye will strive to be for thee her joy and fond delight.
Like genial rays of sunshine that disperse the shades of
night.
Repose, then, calmly on thy mother's loving breast.
So shall we bctli be happy, peaceful, blest !
THE CHILD AT THE MOTHER'S BREAST.
Oh, see with what content and zest
The infant clasps his mother's breast!
A native instinct now doth move
The child to trust his mother's love.
As he from her receives his food.
From her he seeks the highest good.
One day (with reverence returning
His mother's care and silent yearning),
His mind will grasp the clew of right,
From her example pure and bright.
Mother! not only food he takes from thee.
But, to a slumbering instinct true,
He seeks for love and kindness too.
From heart that's full of mother's sympathy.
IS
INTRODUCTORY SONG.
THE MOTHER
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16
Pcrf.^^ I'ed Jf.
Play with the Limbs
\\ HEN first the ch Id del ghts to try
\\ hat strength v th n h s hn bi lay 1 e
The nother nur er> plaj be„ d
It IS a 1 It from heaven
Unto the motl cr given
1 hro lot vard nner 1 fe to waken
Throu h play an 1 th ^1 tful port to qu cken
The sense that feel n fores ght brine;s
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"llf OW the little limbs fl) out
'^^"^ Tossin" roll ck i g all about '
Thus will the\ ^i n life an 1 strensjth —
Stii p tl e flax seed out at kni'tl ,
To mike the oil so cleir and brij,! t
Th-it feeds the pretty lamp all n ght,
■\\ here mother s love burns still and clear
\\ 1 1l atchin ' o cr her child so dear
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FallinQ-, Fallino!
" A DEEPER teeling underlies
Each little play the mother tries.
Tims, ill the 'Falling, falling!' game,
The mind conceives a higher aim;
Thy child shall gain the strength and skill
To conquer many a coming ill, —
Shall many a threat'ning fall avoid.
When tripping by his mother's side.
Song.
fraiOWN he goes now, falling, falling !
^^*^ Up he springs at mother's calling !
Laughs he now in frolic glee, —
Laughs so safely there to be.
Sure he knows no harm befals him
While his loving mother calls him.
Down he goes now, falling, falling !
Up he springs at mother's calling !
Soul and body thus unfolding,
Mother's love is ever moulding.
No, 1.
(M.M.J =120.)
PLAY WITH THE LIMBS.
CTr !i^ i
How the lit - tie limbs
T
4=
oat,
g 9 r —
m
*
Tos - sii^, rol - hck - ing all a - boat I
^^m
^
±
5^
^
jt|^
i<:
Thus they gain their health and strength. Stamp the flax seed out at length, To
3
«
i
^-
T
make the oil so clear and bright, That feeds
^g:
>^ g g-
S
the pret - ty lamp all night. Where
i
5—4 — «
i
3
T
-*?— 5-
=P==5:
:^:
i
^1
r
moth • er's love boms still and clear. While watch - ing o'er her child so dear.
No. 2.
(M.M.J =126.)
FALLING, FALLINGI
^
^E^
:K
^
ing!
^
Down he goes, now fall - ing, fall
Up
I
he springs at moth - er's
I:
^
^-ir
-^ 1-
u
i
4=
call - ing. Laughs ho now in frol - ic glee, Laughs so safe - ly there to
FM=r-
-1-
-t'
=:^:
\-
, 1
— *|—
-$-
5—
J «>
«
— r^
— #=^-
■ !
=^~
PT-
tt#^=
A
-\
— 0 -
-T— 5
-t-:
-\ —
_J_1_
zt-
-^» —
1
# 1
I
*i '*
lie,
Sure he knows no harm bo - falls him, While his lov - mg moth - er
m
calls
him, Down he goes, now fall - ing, fall - ing! Up ho springs at mother's
12=15:
^
Nr
£
^m^
call - ing. Soul and bod - y thus un - folding, Moth -er's Ioto Is ev - er
monldinsr.
No. 3.
THE WEATHERVANE.
(m.m. y^69.)
^^:iS
E==v
-g— 5^
I ' .g. *
rt^^t
■>V
^^
^
i
*^=i=s
As the Tane op - on the tow - er Turns when winds and tern - pests low - er,
e^
So my child
^~^^f=%
^=K
u^ •«'
his hand is turn - ing, l*ret - ty play and
son learn • ing.
No. 4.
ALL'S GONE!
(m.m. ,'=152.)
-N N
EBEE
-t ^-l-
Gone, gone,
3^
^ * i -
my child, all gone I The sup
per
now
IS
gone.
Ba - by is not now
s
3
:t5=
^
now with -out it, Lit
S
tie month knows all
a - bout
i
it;
^^^^^^^m
Lit
tie tongue hath in it dipped, Down
the lit
£
tie throat it slipped;
m
w
fc
Kow
it makes my
3
^^
ba
by gay,
Full of frol - ic.
-A— 57-
5^=5:
of frol - ic, full of play.
in health my child shall beam,
and cream.
Now
1} l'^Ji_L~fTt~f"Ft
in health my child shall beam,
ifcl
^-
Red
and white like
like
rose
?
11
and cream.
'fS& —
Song of Taste.
"Ever through the senses Nature woos the child J
Thou canst lielp him comprehend her lessons milA
By the senses is the inner door unsealed,
Where the spirit glows in light revealed.
Through the senses the child's soul lies open :
Keep the impressions pure; whate'er may happen.
Many a care in life shall lighter seem.
And life more joyfully, serenely beam."
SoK£:
*7&HILD, now open thy mouth ! I'll show '
C>5. What is good for thee to know. '
Bite this plum so full of juice, —
Make thy little tongue of use.
"Say, how tastes it?" "Ah, good, good ! "
Yes, the tongue has found it good.
Now then, bite this apple sound ;
Red the apple is, and round !
All thy rosy face is wrinkled.
As paper in the fire is crinkled.
Sour, very? sharp and sour?
Sweets the children love far more.
Now the bitter almond try, —
This he tastes more willingly :
Bitter things are wholesome too,
Draws the mouth a little, though.
Iiitter in life we often meet :
Life will make the bitter sweet.
Unripe fruit avoid still more, —
It is harsh from rind to core ;
Vain and grief 'twill bring thee ever.
Let it tempt my darling never.
Life and strength he must not waste ;
What is unripe never taste.
26
Song of Smell.
'The child full early may perceive,
In every thing that lives,
The inner presence of a power.
That for existence strives.
Be it in color or in form,
Or fragrance of the flower.
All are to existence called,
By one directing power."
Song.
Yj^OW my little rogue may smell
^S These sweet flowers he loves so well, ■
Ah, sweet ! so sweet !
Ah ! what is it ? Canst thou tell,
So sweet, so sweet,
Where the hidden source may dwell?
Yes ! an angel in the cell
All the cup with sweets doth fill ;
Says, "Though from the child concealed.
Sweet perfumes I freely yield,
So sweet, so sweet ! "
Let me too the angel greet ;
Let me smell the perfume sweet, —
So sweet, so sweet, so sweet !
G^h/^
No. 5.
SONG OF TASTE.
(M. M. ^=72.)
im^M
jit
^lit
±
-» —
n
^
:*=^.
-&-. \— t^ i^: — P-a-
^^
■0- — « — b^-/-
t
■^/-
J
1. Child, now open thy mouth! I'll show What is good for thee to know ; Bite the plum so full of juio,
i
;^i^
^
^
ICZ*
:Srt-^
^^^^
-^*f-
v^
^
Make the lit - tlo tongue of use. Sayl how tastes it? good, good I Yes, the tongue hath found it good.
2. Now then bite this ap - pie sound, Bed it is, and smooth and round. All thy ro - sy face is wrinkled,
-«—
5SS
5— S a a fi! ^ \ H<«a-U/>,=-JJ-i:r-. J-^-O ^ ' I *? -ii-l ^
-g— r
5^^^5=^:
:^^
Like pa - per in the fire crinkled, Sour,
/ ^ " ;/ 4^
very sharp and sour? Sweets the children like far more.
It
i
S^E
St=^
^»— /-
^ — ^
5-i-
9-^
T% ^-
-* — h
S
3:
-c-
-9rn
-o-i.
— r
3. Now the bit - ter aJ - mond try I This he tastes more will - ing - ly ; Bit - ter thin^^s are wholesome too.
^^si
3^E^aa^5^S35s
^^
SJ!!-^
-«-ft
-g-g-
^=fe
3
,v
->— V
Draws the mouth a lit - tie. though, Bitr ter in life wo often meet; Life
31
4t
will make the bit-tor sweet.
F^
-*-r-
=>-?-
->-T —
-^-^^
-•-v^
=?^
^F
"1^
i^l^iS-^-
-«-5-
— \ — ►^
— ^"
— >-
=sJ|-g-
Lt)t
^
=4=i^
=^
1^
Li/_
— «—
=5=
— 1
-V—
^;;*==
0 a
a a
rl=
—a—
o " *>
4 Un - ripe fruit avoid still more, It is harsh from rind to core, Pain and grief 'twill bring you ever,
^
e
#
*—
:^
=*=-;?«
^9
-\— \
i^^
it«^-^^ ^fl^-*^^-^ — /-y-i-;^ ^ — / y — / — ^ — i>-^-a- ' ^ — ^;j:-*-<»-^
Let it tempt my darling never. Life and strengtli we must not waste, What is nn - ripe never taste.
29
]|
31
No. 6.
(m. M. y=92.)
TICK, TACKI
To anc
N N
.^-^
it
35
-*^-«
5
^
and fro,
To
and fro,
Goes the pendulum. sure and slow,
i
S=P
i
-p~
So
wiU
my
arm
in
cline, Just
in
time and just
in
line,
S
^
Beat by beat, with for - ward, back.
Ev
er
tick. and ev - er
tacL
1 ^"f [■■>+;
&^
^EE
N ^
^
tick, tack! tick,
tack!
tick.
tackl
UcL
tack!
Lit - tic clock saves
*
itit
3:
f
•
*5:
me from care. Tells me when the right hours are. For
-:ir
eat - ing, for sleep -ing, for
3 S
play and all, For
., i/ 1/ 5/ ;^
ris - ing and bathing it
sounds the call^ Makes my heart beat
i
w
pore and tme,
Keeps me well and ac - tivo too,
Beat by beat with
^^
:ti2:
^1
W
izi
for - ward back.
Ev
er
tick and
ev
er tack I Tick, tick, tack!
.iSiiil
^:::f
s
Ko. 7.
(M.M.J =80.)
GRASS MOWING.
S
-^-i=^
S
-JCL
Hast- en to the meadow, Pe • ter,
i
h
Mow the grass, what could be sweet- er?
---u^r.
t=q
-^
••^=3 — *-
^
^
f
r*-
Bring us home the fra - grant fodder, For the cow, for milk and bnt - ter. Cow is ip the
lE^
bzsl^^zz^
i
^z
f^-r-r
3^^=^=St
r
2
3
Jt
bam - yard straying. Milk her now, with - out de - lay - ing ; Cow the good rich milk is giv - ing.
^
^
X^
Nt'
li:
i
m.
Si=¥
^^P^e
ij
^
Milk and bread are ba - by's liv-ing; Let us grate- ful be for la - bors, Bring -ing us so
^
^^
:t=
S^ss?^
:rr\
ma - ny fa- vors;Let ns grate- ful be for la -bors, Bringiu;:? us so ma - ny fa-vors.
i
^
Hast - en to
3t
31
it
r^
i
^>=«:
the meadow, Pe -ter, Mow the grass, what can be sweeter? Thank thee, Pe- ter,
■^-
^
r-
^
-+-
"g — ZfT
^m
^
r
^ Y
-&-
g
^
"^^
for the mowing. Thank the cow, the mUk be -stow -ing, for the milkin;^ thank our Mol - ly
H-x-» H ^
^
nS — • — ■— t-
3fi
• • d
^^
3^
-«-^-
-g-^-
-• — •-
ae:
^1
Ba-ker for the rolls so jol-ly. For the supper thank mamma.
9-^ 9
So no thanks for- got - ten are.
No. 8.
(M.M.J =76.)
BECKON TO THE CHICKENSI
-» JT-
s±
-/n
Beck - on to
the chick -ens small,
39
Come, dear chick - ens,
&
1/
one
:^
and
r^-^
M
all I
'"^-^'^te.
The Taroret; or, Lenothwise, Crosswise.
' Though meaningless this play may seem,
There's more in it tlian one might dream,
To hmi who daily would behold
The child's young mind unfold.
Like the rough stone it is ; like light,
Wherem the separate hues unite,
Like many things in one that meet,
To make the whole complete.
Where all the active work and skill
Moves nit by arbitrary will ;
Where exists proportion fair,
The child must feel a beauty there.
When all complete and polished lies,
He feels in his heart a glad surprise, -
He feels the charm that binds in one
The work in several parts begun.
Behold, then, in this little play,
A world-wide truth set free !
Easily may a symbol teach
What thy reason may not reach.
The object to the soul can speak.
Far stronger the impression make.
More living is a perfect whole, —
Deeper than words it moves the soul,
And, by its work complete and good,
Ensures a true and healthy mood."
Sotic
^HIS piece of wood I lengthwise lay;
■SI) Tliis piece across the other way,
Throu£;h both I bore a good round hole;
A wooden nail drive through the whole.
This board will for the disc avail:
The target is ready now for sale.
"What costs it?"
" Three iialfpennics."
"Why three halfpennies.''
That's one too many."
"One halfpenny pays for the frame of wood;
One halfpenny pays for the little smooth board :
One halfpenny pays for the work about it:
Who cannot pay it may go without it."
No. 9.
(m.m. ^
BECKON TO THE PIGEONS.
69.)
— y::«T.
^teg
^--
i£:izt:
±±:
i^-%=^=i
<^
^f-9-
8=^
A— \
JL
-^
^]
The pigeons are com - ing, dear love, to meet yoa,
Beckon, then say, "sweet pigeons, I greet yon I
No. 10.
(M.M. J =72.)
FISHES IN THE BROOK,
ii^fpi
-0-
Jt.
-o-
^^S
the brook - let ck^r.
Swim the bright fish - es
^
far and near. Now
darting, now floating, ever they go,
Some of them straight, some bent like a bow.
No. 11. LENGTHWISE, CROSSWISE, or the Target.
(m.m. J = 69.)
P
V N-
:^^t=:
ior
This piece of
- » .5. /
vood I length - wise lay, This
piece
across
r^*-
-SiJ
the oth
s
er way. Through
_1J ^-
w
\ I X
tf-
'^-
=^=^
-a-
-6h-
both I bore now a good roajid hole, A wood - en nail drive through the whole. This board will for the
±
jt±
jt±
-K-
r2:
'7 lj-^^0 0 ' I ± -0-^0 0 I I 7-^r
:n7-?-2-::K— -^
disc avail. The target is ready now for sale! What costs it? Three half pennies;
Wh
hy three half
<f\
(m.m. J =100.)
i
-€ ' ^7 7-^
-^ — N
t=f^
i-^-^H t -tzfczgJEpS^:
pennies ? Thars one too many !
^
■^FS=
O."
1^
-0 0-
-iV
-N-iS
One half penny pays for the frame of wood. One half penny pays for the
Utile smooth board, One half penny pays for the work a - bout it,
who cannot pay it may go without ill
No. 12.
(M.M.J— 80.
PAT A CAKEl
~ih^ —
— ^ r ^-j ; — -r-
— H — ^ .-.' - 1 — ?< —
E#^£^
-^-i — s-^^-^5 — J —
—t-i — i '^ '• i — i —
New my child would have ns bak
of her own mak - ins;.
I
i
©t^
P&t
the cake
I^
pinooth and broad.
Ila - ker says,
T—y
"now all aboard !
i
^
-fi-
-«?
-LJ u
-s*
Bring
-^<-
thc lit
tie cake
to mc.
Soon
my ov
V -i
en
cold will he.
F7t=^
— /- ;' ; 1' f^ s-4 — -■
\ N ^ N -^
— T — ^ — iT-j* — %' ' t — % —
— *?-
^^^=^
« — « — J — « — ^^^^ — / — 1 — *— F —
% ' — ? — — ^:_* T T —
— * 0 — ^ — « — ^g^ — ^ \ —
•01
1 .
Ba - ker, here Is the cake so fine.
Ikiko
it well for this child of mine!
ir^
v-TZfli-
^
3
N
I
• V * '
Soon now the cake shall be goUT - en brown. Deep in the ov - en TU shove it down."
Ro. 13.
THE LITTLE NEST.
(M.M.J
= 76.)
— *^]
1 ■
Tt^
— S-^r-
• 5 —
— ^1
-i^
— *-
o ~
— Si
r— V-
— V-
— 1 —
— V]
1 ■
— V-
— ^ ^ ^ ■
— ^^ — 1
^¥H^
t-^-
-J-
Ij^l
s — *—
1/—
— *-
1— / —
— • —
•
-$-
-i^
-g_
«-
=gd
Lj-
-Sig=S=
^
Fffc
^
-^
— A-iq
— \—
=ir:;=^
— ^
-.^-
_s^
1 — V-
— # —
=i?-^
:^
=r=
— ^"^
— •—
— # —
— » —
rr^=
«E
0
^
\:fy
1? •
— • —
%—-:
s=
=S=S=^
— #—
• •
-«»—
1^-^-
— #=
•
4^
=2-
1 — ^ —
— v* —
*<
laid there - in. Two little birds to sing Ikj - gin, Calling the mother: Pip, pip. pip,
F:#=S=^
-g-H-g^
1
^
^=^
i. •
^
N-i7-
Ul
Dear, oh so dear, pipi
Moth-er dear, pip! Moth - er dear, pip!
53
Dear, oh so dear, pip!
No. 14.
THE BASKET.
I
h
(M.M.J =76.)
±r.
^S-
Weave the lit - tie bas - ket: take
T
^
«=*
S * f 1
In the gar - den, we will make it
i
fct
s
i
— >j
^
^
=i=K
S
*
-T^-^
J — 'M •-
_rfa wt m-
-g 8 •-
Gay with flowers, freshly bloomii^, Father's birthday now is com-ing; Now to dear pa-
j.» iij J' j J1UU-:':^5B^
EE^;
<-^*F-
^
:!t:t
-0 — a-
^
-• ir
I
pa we bring it. With this song and thus we sing it,Lalalala, Lalalala,
*
^^=^
t:} *?
Flow'rs sweet and fair,
N ^ y
-a — #-
t^f=%
tr-P^-
-N— N
•• — P — • — i=-
-» * i
W— ^
-^T
feg=s4
La la la la.
La la la la, Greet my dear pa- pa!
^]
No. 15.
(m.m. ,1 = 80.)
^
THE PIGEON HOUSE.
pen now
-V-
my pig
E
^^
E
eon house, Out fly all the pigeons, once
more let loose, A - way to the broad green fields they fly, They pass the day right
■ff-ftfr
^
tr—K/
fR=^
^
■I ' TTH ±-ffH 1- #'
itTt
f^^rr
mer . ri - ly. And when they come back to rest at night, A - gain I close;
my
pigeon house tight. And when they come home to rest at night, A - gain I close my pigeon house tight.
i
No. 16.
¥5
(m. M. y=72.)
S
THIS LITTLE THUMB.
ir\
^ 7 r
What's this ? what's thia ? what's th^?
i*
a^t
^
— N-
=#-^ — a^
t=2=r
This is
-»-*-
-g 7 g
lit - tie thamb roand. It
looks just like a plum round. And this? and this? and this? This lit -tie finger points the place, And
rT\
I
I^^-^-
/TN
^Ep?3;E
I 7 i^
»=^=5
-»-Jd
¥j=fe
^
:<-*-4
*!
p: :jit*=^
straight it is, yet bends with grace; And this? and this? and this? This finger doth the longest show, And
makes the mid -die of the row. And this? and this ? and this ? This one the gold - en ring shall wear, And
s
P^^3^S^5^^^^=5Ea5
iJzSzia
^
3=s=^
8 — S * «< '
like the gold is pure and fair. And this ? aid this ? and this ? This fin - ger is the least of all, And
just completes the number small. Oh yes I oh yes ! oh yes I Oh yes, it is,
I N f^r ^ I ^ ) ^-1 i ^ rn ^ b» ^ ^ 0 I J
■J J h*j^^L J ^ F^ I T'^r :~*~rr~p==^=^
<,>v J.
it is I
And
i
^
^
though these lit - tie gifts
i
Have each a part to fill. They're all to - geth - er bound. And
I . ^
-^f— t
fc
^
W^=P^
~7 \ ? f^
And thou<ib these lit
X
gov - emed by
oue wilL
tie gifts
Have
i
a^tat:
±#
J
:r
45-
f
±^
^
-# — •-
t^f-^
=J?«
iJ
each
a part to fUl,
They're all to - geth - er bound.
And gov - emed by one will.
Grandmother and Mother.
" Early the child divines aright,
That several parts in one whole unite :
Then the family-circle show, —
Let him every member know.''
^GEHIS is the grandmamma ;
^<J This is the grandpapa;
This is tlie father;
This is the motlier ;
This is mother's child so dear:
Now we have all the family here.
This is the mother good and dear ;
This is the father, with hearty cheer ;
This is the brother, stout and tall ;
This is the sister, that plays with her doll
And this is the little one, pet of all.
liehold the good family, great and small,
Who with thoughtful care, and one in v.ii!
Work well and true joy's cup to fill.
•>-<s/
The Little Thumb is One,
Counting is a noble art,
That man is wont to underrate.
How good the art, he scarce may feel:
Thought only will its use reveal.
True and accurate counting
Leads to the good and true;
All that is evil surmounting,
For good it will ever renew."
<jEHE little thumb is one;
The pointing finger two;
The middle finger three;
The ring finger four ;
The little finger five. I take them,
Take them snugly all in bed,
Sound asleep : let nought be said.
Silence ! do not early wake them.
c$jp»-
The Piano -Forte.
'What pleasure when the chile! has found
Wluit his eye enjoys gives out a sound I
Much is thus given to the outer car,
That man all unheeding will not hear.
Then call the child's attention to it now,
And all his life in joyous streaui shall How.'
^a70UCH the clavier now !
&j2 Upon its ivory row.
Press, my child, a finger down.
Out there springs a lovely tone :
'La,
^a, ■■'la, -"la, 'la ; 'La, "la, la, "la, 'la.
'La, -la, ^a, "la ;
^La, ^la, "la, 'la ; 'La, "la, ^a, ^a ;
"La, ''la, '-la,
'la.
'La,
^la, -^a ;
'°La, "la, "la ;
«La, "la, 'la ; 'La, "la, -'la ;
"La, ^la, ^a ;
'La,
^La, ^a,
^a;
='La,^\a;
^La,"la;
"La, 'la ; 'La, "la ;
"La, -^a ;
^Ui, Ha ;
'la.
'La,
•%;
^La,"la;
•'La, 'la; 'La,'%;
"La, ^la ;
■la;
«La, 'la.
^%^&t
fP avid d own the fingers go, Up and down the finger springs, Though so few tlie notes we hear,
5 3 t ; 1 3 1 5 5 < < 3 2 I ''•''-.- ^-. ,'
Now with speed and now more slow, Still its song the clavier sings. Sweet the cadence is and clear.
As the lark's song joyous rings, Now my child thy hand is small,
•I '1 5 5 &4''Jl"5 42 2 1343
When to heaven he spreads his wings, Fingers weak the tone to call,
3 2 4 3 5 4 3
Gladly we the clavier seek,
2 354 32 1 32 1 2 34 2 132 1
When our hearts in song would speak. When the notes with song unite.
No. 17.
FINGER SONG.
l±^=^
(m.m. J=108.)
h ^-
^-^
-0-i-
Thnmbs and
fin
gers,
1/
Say
good
morn
inji!
First
and
it
f=^
-O
M-'r^-l:
'^
-*?— ^-
ffi
-*^#-r-
~g-
■^g a
EE
i-i^^Sz^^lfi
mid -die,
Eing
re
ceiv
er,
Least of all, . too, Say good morn
ing!
m
E
iri;
at
f-
S
r
So
all
with grace
ful
and
cour
te
oos
bow - in",
Ail
I
^
S
r— ^
■1^
5£
:^
greeting and honor on you are be - stow - ing,
So
^^
all with graceful
and
*
i
cour
=S=
t:
Et
S
te - ous bow - ing. All greeting and honor on
you
^
are be - stow - ing.
i
No. 18.
(M.M.J =96.)
^
^
GRANDMAMMA.
?
S3±
-^-4^
; ^ '7
-•-^
r
s
^=5:
This is the Grandmamma, This is the Grandpa- pa, This is the Father,
^
i
^
This
fT~in=
This is the Mother, This is mother's child so dear, Now we have the whole family here.
-A-
1
IS
moth - fir's child
so
dear,
Now we have the whole fam
r:7
iin - 1 - ly
here.
75
No. 19.
(M.M. J:
IWOTHER, GOOD AND DEAR.
Slit
76.)
:P
-« — •-^■w — o-
-o a— g— o-
=g=
=^
33
5^
li
5*
This is
tbo moth - er, pood and dear,
-i*-^f__
This is the father with heart - y cheer ;
^ !l 4
rf-
This is the brother, stoat and tall, This is the sis- tcr tiiaL plays with her doll, And
this is the lit - tie one, pet of all,
1)0 - hold the good fain - 1 - ly, great and small !
No. 20.
(M.M. J =152.)
THE LITTLE THUMB iS ONE.
1/ ^ ^ ^ ^ ' ■> ^
The lit - tie thumb is one, The pointing fin - ger two. The middle fin - ger three, The
--N-
-* — d- — f^—ni-
s:
M^S
^ — '
-9-
-0-
-^r^
s — s-
-90-
l=±=5^.
•H
ring finger four. The lit - tie fin - ger five. 1 take them, Take them snugly all in bed.
'^^^^
Sound asleep, let naught be said, tiilena'! do not early wake them, Silence ! do not ear-ly wake them.
No. 21.
(M.M ^=152.)
THE PIANOFORTE.
--^.i^r-N:
4-v
Izitzfz
-0^
-a-
^^^Gg3^
Touch the cla - vier now
P
I'p - on its i
vor-y row,
-u
'0-
-n»-
-0-
-0-
>-ir
-0-
-&=i%.:=^A
Press, my child, a
±.
-g— ar
-0 — s-
fin - ger down, Out there springs a
-Xz
■■^r=i^-
—T ' — ~n — m 0 .
i«-
loTO - ly
Vt
la,
La la La la,
La la la
tone,
La la la la la.
La la la la
:h
— Nt — 1 — ^~T — *;~n — ^ — ^T — I — ? — rrsf
g-*+^=f
la.
I.a Li la la.
lia la la
r
hi.
ti
k
pa
^
^ — r-T — V
La
i
^^
i
i
fc
la la
la la la I
N N
d *
^
a la
-• ■ g S — a-
Li la la la
Z0—9-
_d &_
la
la
la
-»-S g_^jg=jg
Frt
i
i
=^
la la la la la la la la la la la la,
N P^ ^ Nc-n — N \ N S V-
la
5
la la la la
la
^
Up
S
and down the fin - gers
^^
G
-t^n-
m
go,
s
m
iS:
now with speed and new more slow. Dp and down the fin - ger springs. Still its song the clavier sings.
No. 22.
(M.M.J =76.)
BROTHERS AND SISTERS.
^^I&^
tfESEEEj^
;g4=f=i:
-^— V
e^
«^— ^-
^ W-
*=t^
ZtZJtL
'S-zt
er-g-
^"^ifczc:
-^^^ — ^
J#^ T^
S34
trg
I ,
Lol sunk in each oth - ers' arms thoy lie, Drar brothers and sis - ters so peace - ful-ly. All
^
H ■ i ■ L ( ^■■^ 1 it-l
tired
of work and pleasure, They galh - er streni,'th from night's long leisure ; But
:t^:
:>-- NiT-
■*• :r v-.of-tT
-g-^
-A-
— ' — 56' ^— U* ^ 1 H 0 ■
ere they close their weary eyes, Their thonghts to their Cre-a - tor rise ; The source of life and all things dear, The
t:
V~N — V
^^
-X— V
-r^r-&
-« OH
4=^
-O O-i—
I '-^ ■
-V>r
=g=gT:
-g— »^-
ii
Father of all, Who art ev - er near ; Then sleep,
|_ I N Nx I ^ -ViT r— N — N— A--
dear children in soft
~0-
1>
re - pose, He '^ho
-N N ^ 1 -f— A — I
3
•-i — *
-«-
? "J 7 t
-!=U
watcheth all, Eeareth ev-'ry call. And softly now e? - 'ry eye doth close. Then child of my hean, do
I
%--
:«?*
S
N£
7-2
:t~*±^^
9—
5s:
«—
l-5-?3-«-*?
:^
•— €-
-*-T-»
S
^ f - ' '-^- c
Ny'^'
:g:^:r5:?
Sz:±5-^
:^
1* '
=STg--r
:t
thou like the rest. And slumber, slumber, by love caressed, And slumber, slumber, by love caressed.
Nos. 23. 24, 25 & 26 Are spoken.
1]
Children at the Tower.
'WiiAi'icvER singly thou hast played,
May in one charming whole be made.
The child alone delights to play,
But better still with comrades gay.
The single flower we love to view,
Still more the wreath of varied hue.
In this and all the child may find
The least within the whole combined."
So
yHHWO hands ! thereon eight fingers are ;
^? Two thmnbs tlie two gTandmotliers are.
They've come to make each other a call :
'Tis long since they have met at all, —
They bid each other welcome.
Oh, welcome ! Oh, welcome !
Such bowings and such greetings !
Such glad and tender meetings !
They talk as if they would never rest ;
They tell of the basket, the eggs in the nest ;
They tell of the doves and the pigeon-house, —
How they fly in and out in gay carouse.
They tell of the little fishes gay,
In the sparkling water floating away ;
The baker and little patty-cakes ;
The target the good brother makes.
Now, when they've reviewed their plays all through,
They ask each other what next they shall do.
The fingers say, " To the steeple we'll go ! "
Rut the little grandmothers, they say, " No ! "
In the church-door the grandmothers iro.
-!^
The Child and the Moon.
OME, child, and see the moon, —
^ She makes it bright as noon.
Come, moon, so good and mild,
Come to my little child.
" Gladly would I come to thee
But I dwell too far away, you see :
From my blue house I cannot go,
My golden light I can send below.
If I cannot to the child come near,
I send my light and love so dear.
So now, my child, be good and wise:
From time to time I climb the skies.
And I will send thee from above
A mild and tender glance of love,
And each the other meeting.
Exchange a joyful greeting."
Good-bye, my moon, good-bye !
With love shall love reply.
ilie Boy and the Moon.
Wf t seem objects in a far-off sphere
To the child's inner sense to shine so near ?
\Vh/ longs he for them, wishing heartily
That he might now in close relation be ?
A lesson 'tis, to help his mind unfold :
Do not disturb the little fancy bold ;
Let not the fond illusion pass away
Until a true thought may its place supply,
Until the true relation thou canst show.
And through the outer he the inner tie may know.
Then trouble not the child in his sweet dream,
Ncr dare to say, " things are not what they seem."
He feels the heavens are near,
Nor has a thought of fear —
Let him to heaven then still extend his arm.
And in the happy dream be kept from harm.
Song.
" ^j^^'^^^^' ^^^ *^ ™°°" ■ " *^ ^°y '^ calling,
oiJ^— Far outstretching longingly his hands ;
While in heaven the bright full-moon is mounting,
Vainly would he reach it where he stands.
" Oh ! a ladder we must have to reach it.
Could we find -one strong enough and tall."
411 in good faith now the child looks round him,
Sees the ladder resting on the wall :
_rustfully his little arms extending,
" Bring the ladder ! " joyfully he cries, —
.'Ml his childish fancy bent on climbing
Where the moon is sailing through the skies.
<J>^<'?^
82
" Oh ! a ladder we must hove to
S C^,f reach it.
~V
«"^T> \t t ^^^ '" good faitti now the child looks
c„ ^'t^'^^f^'^lKl round him,
PVMi#Vvv >^i( Sees the ladder resting on the wall :
i|t;^.
"*' Trustfully his little arms extending,
J " Bring the ladder ! " joyfully he
8)
•r- cnes, —
All his childish fancy bept on
climbing,
y^^ Where toe rucci. ''? sailing through
%%m^^^
■^
The little Maiden and the Stars.
'The child is happy to compare
Objects in life of beauty rare
With those whom it has held most dear, —
It brings a living picture near."
I T evening clear the maiden dear
Her gaze to heaven is turning ;
She sees two large and brilliant stars,
That side by side are burning.
" Father and mother stars ! " she gaily cries ;
Speaks the tnother then in accents wise :
"The double stars shine brightly,
And well may they delight thee.
Tlieir glimmering and shining,
Through mazes bright entwining,
A sign may be
Of their love to thee, •
Of peace and joy combining.
Yet are their pathways crossed
I5y the numberless starry host
Of lesser lights around ;
84
No. 27.
THE LIGHT BIRD.
Child.
(M.M.J =116.)
m
:J{=M=t^
^m
g
^^E
^ — ? — r^ ^ — ^r^
0 birdie dear, 0 birdie dear, 0 birdie on the wall I
V v> ^
0 birdie dear, 0
m
-M^.
gj^^
-^ N-
;J=
1^
-* — ^
iMfr
i'
p-r
bir - die dear, Hold still now while I call.
Ton must not fly
way
80,
And
tt
^
;^
I
^■^-T-ti
e
g
It:
^
J±zfz=S=i!
:*=it
^ V V
^i^-^
:t^
dance a - boat and play so, 0 birdie dear, 0 birdie dear. Hold still now while 1 call
Mother,
(m.m. J = 58.)
^
::5=5==^
S£H:
The Ut
-I — -5 — ^ ^j 1 m^
tie bird
IS
1/ *
formed of light, It can - not be held in the
i
I
Jj I 1
^^
S
A-^
^ -7 il
=3=^
^
j 7 ^ lij=il:
fin - gers tight. It flies on the wall jnst to please the sight; It shines to
^
3
4 ->, 4
m
j^^
ZZHI
-0 — J^-^^
the heart de - light So
-#—
give
la
it in
life with full
ma
ny
^
^^i=^
^^
pleasnre. We are not to seize in onr hands the treasnre, It wa-kens a
i
*
^
^
^
I
¥
a-
^
^^
no • bier feel - ing of joy. And both shall be - come then, the gainers there - by.
No. 28.
THE RABBIT.
IM.M.
i
fc
120.)
=5f=?=
H^=N
^^^
^
r
-*i—
See
the rab -bit run - oing, skip - ping! At the wall he stops,
m
r
s
s
i
i<r
3E
be bops.
Chil
dren af - ter bim are trip - ping, I5nt
way
^
?±
37
4
2^
Ufc
3^
4
^
-«^
^
See him point his lit
Ue
ears now, Ev*
ry sound be heeds.
i
-*r — ^
1
5!
h
:*^
.J=^
w
^
:as;
i^
:i2:
s — :jr-
the green grass feeds.
Straight his pret - ty form be rears now, On
Slow. (m.m. ^1=132.)
ii
*i
-V— < — I—
Then
«-r-
?«—
-•-i-
^
be tnmed
7^
bis stoinp
y nose
up,
:it^
^^==H
fi^
i
V 7 ^
With a sud - den spring be rose np,
r-^^r^^ N ^ ■ — "«< -> >
^
-»-^
JJ
ne-
y ^ \^ ^ y '
Down a - gain he quick - ly cow - ers. Hunt - er there in am - bnsb low - ers,
ffiT
^
%
-•^
%
ir
Puffl the rab
bit
IS
dis - gust - ed, Sow the hunt - er brave is worst - ed,
^
S
-•—
^
^
^
-a-»-
u
Bon - nie scam - pers I off he's vanished ! And
my lit
Ue
song
13
finished.
T
The Wolf and Wild Boar.
WILD BOAR.
/^vsrf. \k N the orJv-wood, deep and green
I ' ■"*-' Where the beasts of prey are seen,
See ! a boar is prowhng round, —
To and fro he snuffs the ground.
Hunger now begins to teaze him ;
Acorns make the food to please him.
i Hark ! behind his slender back,
\ Something in the woods went crack !
>Jow the hunter comes in sight :
The boar has Cjuickly taken flight.
The Window.
' Let not the child an inward feeling cherish,
That he within himself one life can be.
Only a member of the living whole,
A portion of this varied life is he.
Let him the inner through the outward see.
The far remote that lures his gaze
A part in his own being plavs.
Inaudible to the outward ear may be
Much that in allegory speaks tu thee.
Who understands aright this language true,
berenely, joyfully may life pursue."
No. 29.
(m.m. J= 144.)
THE WOLF.
^
r
r*
ifi^rt
In the sombre fir - tree wood, Of beasts of prey the wild
a - bode. Lo! a wolf is
:i;
w
-v-g-
J^ZI^
-^—9 ^^
prowling round.
m
i i-i 4
U
^
i^±
■r-t-*
-> — V-
3CHS
'rv
i
i
:^:
^^=
i
To ana fro he snaffs the ground; Hanger presses Mm
W^
sore.
*
:f5:
f
Frails for him are far too dain - ty,
He would have wild game in plen
r
• ly-
i
•i^
w
■<t~r
:&:
iljS:
Starts a - way the woods to scour. Hunter likes it not,— No wonder,— He would have him
i--^
^t^
-#-r-
"» — a-
^
i
— :; tr
self the plunder ; Hun • ter shoots, the wolf he howls. Off in - to the woods be prowls.
;u
p^.
No. 30.
(M.M. J— 84.)
THE WILD BOAR
feizafc
-* — "-.^
Tra- ru tra-ra tra-ra!
In the oak - wood, deep and f^reen, Where the beasts of
P
-ff-ff-g— *
0 — i — •-
«-^* — •-
2=2:
^^
^
£
^
=S— *^
:S
ig * f._fc^
rt
e:*^
See! a boar is prowling round ; To and fro he snaffs the ground;
prey are seen.
i:^
-->-
\
i-t
>:5p^
rr^^^
2f^
;r=*:
"g — #-
St
-• — ^:
1 — * — I —
0*1 yl
■o- -a- ^
Hunger now be - gins to tease him, Acorns make the food to please him, Hark ! behind his slen - der back
103
::^ft
^
V
at
■-N-
^
:at:
J-
I
-•—*/-
3*^^
„ *^B P^__-P i—
■yi^it:
E»
iSomething in tlie woods went crack! crack! Sow
— - JV^^
the bun - ter
comes in
sight,
-v-i
^
H
Toar lias quick - I y
eh-«
;«:
-^ (» ii — a — el
" -J «^*
t;ik - en flight. Tra - ra tra - ra.
tra - ra tra - ra.
^^-
^^^
I
No. 3'i.
THE LITTLE WINDOW.
Oh see the lit
_ ■*■ ^
win - (low bright! It
fills the room with cheer - ful
-?T— *— ^-
X^=^
^— *
—tZ
-• — »-MS — «— 3:
^— ^
-o — d-
-e^^ —
^:
:^1
lii;lit ; It shines all dav, And makes thee gay.
Be like the light, so pnre, so bright.
No. 32.
(M.M.J = 72.)
V
THE WINDOW,
it
-& 9-i — m
— I \ B.
sr
'O'
.-o-
-&-
-&-
:4r^-
^
-«l-
E^
-A-
:e-
e:
:V-T^
Through the clie(|uered wiu - dow pane Streams the light of heaven again; bays, "I love to
_ _ _ t^ "^ ^y~ 7 >
be with thee, Dope you fool de - light in me." " Peep I boo peep, boo! Thou love - ly light. Oh
^ N-
-K>
^"i^— U
:«>:
--v
-t -^t* «-
Zi Bl
Much I love thy pn^ence bright." "Child, Tve (inickJy sy»e<l to thee. From the great clear
m
^EJE^
-a-
"°f"-F"
^z^.
-5-^
sun set free; Long the way, yet seemed it short. When of my dear child I thonghL
■• V
-\-
^
Dear
as
sun
light
IS
to
thee,
use.
it not too lav
ish
Iv."
No. 33.
(M.M.J =69.)
THE CHARCOAL BURNER'S HUT.
ESSJ^.
±Lu=i
:P
±^
i
:3^z
^^S
^ - — 0 w ■ — ^
The char - coal burner's hut is small, Will scarcely hold two men in all, Yet
F*!
i
— H 1 f-
r^^^=^
:t^
^
■f--.-
^
3:
313
W "I 1/' k u»- ^
y ^ y ; "7
the char - coal burner and son so good.
in
it there dwell in
cheerful mood,
i
1=
They bring up the wood. To charcoal they bum it. And in - to the wag - on The
^
i
i:
£*
P^*^^=?^^
/ / I- i^,
^
n
smith shall then turn it; How could we our spoons, our knives and
r^8 / / N ,f^^ s
m
*
■^— N
-N— N-
forkstoo, have made. And
ne
^
^.
3&3l^
2i2:
P^
nc
52EE
*
■a — a-
many things else we may dai • ly need,
If the burner,
^
0-'^-
-*:r-»-
with blackened
^^f*^
-5— ^H^-
I:
^
:^— f^
^
f=5!^-J^
-N 1 — ^2 — ^
face
3!^
and hair.
_^N
N » v~
:Si:
i^
-«i — -j 1 — ■»-
i!
1 tf *? g ' g'
Burned not the coal.... with patient care?
If the I
^5
^JHS
tzli
-5-?-^
burner, with blackened face and hair.
I
fc*
^^^
iir
F=^^=^
-^ — N
£3eS
-A-7 —
-»—
s
■n — +c
*?
Burned not the cool with patient care? Come, child, and give the good coal burner greeting. With-
m
i-
s
3^
^
r
^=^
• out thy good spoon there's no pleasure in eat • ing. And though in his face
m
I:
E
te
11
^
tt
We praise his good heart,.... No
may
not be fair,
shad - ow comes there.
The Carpenter.
Wherever the child sees good work done,
The mind and heart are easily won.
Then through constructive form he passes
From the outward
To the inward,
And feels the inner sense and uses."
Sonsc-
UK^
^£<)H, see the carpenter! All day
©i- With curious art he works away:
The high is here brought low;
The long is shorter now ;
The crooked soon comes straight ;
The round he maketh flat;
All smooth he makes the rough :
Is not that skill enough ?
Now all must he combine,
All parts together join ;
And see what now he shows !
From timbers the house now grows, — .
A house for my good child.
Where dwell his parents miid.
Who night and day attend him.
And from all harm defend him.
The carpenter must love the child,
The good, protecting house to build.
No. 34.
THE CARPENTER.
i
(m.m. J = 84.)
r
-^
^
-tr—y
N— N-
n
-tr--N-
$
<• <-
X
X
Ch see the car-pen-terl all the day, With curious art he works a- way, The
i
i=i
*=p
U^
-^-^^
j=^--^^v-jJ^ ^1 P
high is here brought low.
7
^£*^J©
^^^'
# »-
a=t
:^
The long is short - er now.
The round he mak- eth
:fc±^
:*=i
; A
flat. The crooked socn comes straight.
4^::
Tt
Jf^
LJ ^
:^=t
All smooth he makes the rough.
Is
:|
i
•rl j"
^^
i^
1=-
"^
-J 0 *-
-«-*^
^=^
not that skill e - nough? Now All he must com- bine, All things to- geth - er
S
hi=^
-W-^
t=^
--^
jom.
And see, what now he shows!
From tho timbers, the timbers the house now
^
^
^
:f^
^4=^
grows!
A house for my good child,
Where dwell his pa - rents mild.
Who
1
i
:^
J^
^
V-
» 7 — «-
night and day at
tend.
&="
him, And from all barm de
fend — him. The
m
tl-i %^
€—7-
^
^
i:
-7—*-
S
car
pen - ter must love the child, The good, pro - tect -
'^ '^
ing house to build.
113
The Little Gardener.
WouLDST (hoii the mind of the child for the
cares of life unfold,
Let liim observe the hfe-scenes here unrolled.
Wouldst thou for cares of inward life prepare
him
Make sweet to him the life-cares that are near
him."
SOHZ.
^iNJOW the garden-beds are blooming,
•J-- Water-pot in hand we're coming,
All the thirsty plants to sprinkle.
AH the buds begin to twinkle,
Scatter now their perfume rare.
They open their petals one by one,
They roll out their cups to the glowing sun,
Rewarding all our tender care.
No. 35.
(M. M. J =160.)
THE BRIDGE
child would crosa it,
i-v
? — *-
-±—?-
:i:t=f:
-«-
:f#
heart doth fail; Oh
brighter
^--H
##
the flowers the
oth - er
side
seem, Yet
i
fct
*
?^
E
->-A"
T
::;:?:
finds he no way to get
0 -
ver
the stream.
i
%
'^^
^ K
?^
m
IT
/ -JT -JT TT
In vain his eye
>5-
wanders from
Tt^t
-^—
£
I^*?^
=?=^
^=^
%.-'.'
T— ^
tree - trunk to ledge. Now
Cometh
the car - pen - ter, builds the light bridge, Then
m
h
¥
-\-v-
^
^
%=J^
>. g
:f
ver and back he may
go
cd'
as he will; With praise and with thanks to the
-i
wv=n
^
^
I
^
^
car - pen - lei's skill, With praise and with thanks to
tbe {car -pen- tor's skilL
NO. 36.
(m.m, J=100.)
r-e-ft »> y > — N — ^-
THE BARN-YARD GATE.
i
E
*
^
:^T
■t^-e-t:
3ES^
I
e
E
:#
g—— r
i#
-s— *?-
I
i
Ob! what is this? This is a gate
(M.M.J =72.)
-^>-
-^— ^
Leading to the bam -yard straight.
■^.=;g-N-
-^ N-
^^s-:es3
p-
There the po-ny is springing, hop, hop, hi — hi! The dovra are there winging, kurr, kurr, kurr, kurr. The
^^^^
7
^
'0-
;e&>G are all chatt<>ring, Tlio dacks are all quackinf,', Tho chiekpn.s
|iwi)iii;j;, The
F^i:
cock londly crows.
Pip pip,
ki-kc-ri - ki ! Pip, pip,
ki-ke-ri ki!.
m
V
-/ H
? V
Trr
%~j
^r
-ir--\-
-«n—«
i^
"^-r
t> 6»-
-J V
>. ^ ^
^z3^=B:^S=zi
u:
bees are all humming, sum, scin. sum, sum, The mooly cow lowcs, mnh,.
muh,
1/
The
^i^^
-St
;:_s_? o:zai
-H; 1* 1-
r
->-tr
T
m
r-»r-V
-g-v-
1/ 1/ / ^
calf is there playing. The lit - tie lamb straying, Tliero bleat^th the sheep, There grunteth the swine. The
f^^-
(lI.M.
100.)
:^r-
t^
^=i=
-NiTi
^^-
-f-^S
1B — S
^
^Ef:
^-Or±
-^fv^a-H5^-^^-^^-
^^
T
gate close fastened wo most keep., Oh why? Oh why? That none may fly, Each keep to his own quarter nigh.
No. 37 Is spoken.
No. 3S. THE LITTLE GARDENER.
(M.M.J =69
Now the gar - den beds
are
-J i; ;/
blooming, Wa
ter- pot
in
hand we're com - ing,
^
-K
-o—
-^r — g-
^=ai!W-
'Z±IJ^
s^
All the thirs - ty plants to sprin - kle,
*
-«»-r-
-^-
r r^^ — « s —
All
N
the bndd be - gin to twin - klo,
perfume rare, They
pen their pet - als
one
-A-
>Tg±
roll
:ic
out their cups
\£ the
12 a ^i-l
._/--
_yr+-^
-»-?■--
tti
3^
glowing sun, lie - ward - inn
.all
our
■^<
by oiii', Thry
11
ten - der
care.
No. 39.
SONG OF PERFUME
(M.M. ^1= 152.)
V— --> r
-N-
t^
-^ J' J' ;g
-^
-A— »r
:!:
5ow my lit - tie rogue may smeU
These sweet flowers he loyes bo well.
J
i
/TN
— X —
^
-^ 1 1 ^ — ■ 1 ^
■^ -r :^ ^■'
Ah I what is it? canst thou tell? So sweet! Where the hidden source may dwell? So sweet?
:!=
:|t
*
^^
5-^
4t-*— ^
S
:^
Yes, an an - gel in the cell, All the cup with sweets doth fill. Says, " though from the
^^^=^
i
-t-%-
._*-
t
-Sir^S-^
J.
.... s >
V—
1 — ^'
— di —
-i^g
lijtrSt
=5-F?=^
t-U—
-b->-
__«_
^
t*--
-5— »-
-i-
— S-
9
-V v: 1
child concealed, Sweet perfumes I free- ly yield." "Let me too
the
an - gel gieet.
?J^
Let me smell the perfume sweet, So sweet ! So sweet ! So sweet I
So sweet! So sweet! So sweet!"
No. 40.
(M.M J= 76.)
THE WHEELWRIGHT
^
^
m
^ *.
:^
-• ^
S
Let us to the wheelwright go,
^
Q
• ^-
^
now! see now! see!
^-€-
Watch to see what he will do.
> - ^ {^
^
±
Oh, what pains takes he.
s ^ ^-^
That the auger go straight through,
=7^^
31^1
^
i;^
:t^
C3t
to his mind.
That the
hole
be smooth and true;
Now 'tis read - y
i
m
£3^
■N->r
T=^jF=i
i
To the ax - le may be joined; Round it goes now,
fir=g=fgr=^=^s^
^3=zq
Ev - er round now,
Round
W:
^
^MM
•^ — ^^
^ — a—
now, round now, round now, yes!
%■ 9
t?S:
US
-^
i
:1E
It
go - eth
ev
er
ronnd
r^%'±
a
Round
DOW, round now, round noWt Yes!
It
go
eth
ev
er round.
Kc. 41.
THE JOINER.
;m.m. ,'=108.)
u
tr=^^=^
!]1 M_
-ja-
?^
Tt
Zisch ! zisch I
zisch!
The
join - er planes
to
his
wish!
^^Vt-
^^
Makes the ta
i
^-
^
-0-
ZSl
ble smooth and cool,
Leaves no hole with
in the wood.
p^;jz,=^=g=^..az^=^-;. .'^ j- '^^-^=±:: -_^. 1 j-
Ep=;:^^:±fci;gEEri±L-: :33=^tz^3=^-ff-^ — \i^i — ^
Zisch! zisch! zisch!
Join
er planes to his wish,
Long, long, long.
Vf
if- \-
'^
:*:
Planing the bench so strong.
Planes un - til — all white it grows,
-/-TFft'-— ^
-At
-f-
?3
-^-.
-*=?»-
SEtz^
-^-^
:^=^=^
H r-
-f * ^
1 l--g i
II
Planes till not a splinter shows. Long, long, long,
Planing the bench so strong.
The Knights and Good Child.
" There lurks within the child a hidden feeling,
That he lives n')t in this life alone.
He fancies forms and voices round him stealing
That are strange and foreij^n to his own.
A new degree of life he has begun.
The genuine call of life his ear has won.
Have care, then, for the little chdd io bright
Let him not follow a delusive light,
And not entirely in the outward live,
But let the inner life its impulse give."
So'ig.
Hp IVE knisfhts I see riding at rapid pace ;
"jj> VVitliin tlie court their steps I trace.
"What would ye now, fair knights, with me ?'
"We wish thy precious child to see:
They say he is hke the dove so good,
And hke the lamb, of merry mood.
Then wilt thou kindly let us meet him,
That tenderly our hearts may greet him.'"
" Now the precious child behold, —
Well he merits love untold."
" Child, we give thee greetings rare,
This will sweeten mother's care.
Worth much love the good child is,
Peace and joy are ever his.
Now will we no longer tarry, —
Joy unto our homes we'll carry."
N0.42. THE KNIGHTS AND THE GOOD CHILD.
(M.M.J =72.)
LMS^t
Nt— +
fv^'^r^
-s^-
1±Z^
?^
^
:t£?3:
^;
-^— -s-
-9-0-
■^«s^
Fiye knights I see rid - ing at rap - id pace, With - in the court their steps I
ivfrpi^i
ITS
-g— ^
^3
J=tS±fcJ|>|=»
trace, "What wouid ye now, fair knights, with me?" "We wish thy prec - ious child to
i
V *:l ^ -^^^
-jL
1^
-at— jT
^
?^
"^^-IP-
-e — •-
see. They say he is like the dove so good, And like the lamb of mer - ry
i
^
^^
:^:2:
Ma
-Nt
'M^-i^
-^"^x
i
:S:.^cS
rrs
r-
mood; Then wilt thou kind - ly let us meet him, That ten-der-ly our hearts may greet him."
^ii^^B^p]
:*r^=*6
?^
32:
1^
^E^
-^—'r
pr^-
^^
^
1=^
El^^
* V ^
"Now the precious child be - hold ! Well ho mer - its love un - told;" "Child, we give thee
I
r=5:
9*-
^3=^
:i:
-0-
9 — J— — •— 5 — •'-
^t^
>^
v---#=
'^
^i
:i==±
=«=^
greetings rare. This will sweet -en moth - er's care I Worth such love the good child is.
-a
-JLZti
^-
±Jii
-^.*-
peace and joy aio ev - er his. Now we will no Ion - ger tarry, Joy un- to our
td^
ts^mm
-^.
N '""■ii^ w ritard.
homes we'll carry; Now wiU we no longer tar- ry, Joy un - to — our homes we'll carry."
No. 43
THE KNIGHTS AND THE ILL-HUMORED CHILD.
(m. M. ,1=72.)
If^
^ ^
:^
'f^j-f-
--rrr^
^T-'l i
i^
I
^=f
M
f
5=fe
■•-•
— m-ai.
-**i5r
Five knights I see rid - ing at rap - id pace, With - in tlw conrt their steps I
t:
i
/r\
=*=^
:H
-^t-^
s
X '
<« — ^
i^
trace, "What would ye now, fair knights with me?" "We msh thy prec ■ ious child to
I
> ^ Z ^ Fg
*i=
-^¥1
^
^
:^^
r
see." "Ahl friend- ly knights, I griere to say, I can - not bring him to you
h-Vk-^^^
f
-4
-^— v
^S
it.
Z^=^=MZ
mo- rose and cross. That all
iT-k^—d-
|5^
to
-day; He cries, is so
too small we find the
feUU-^-l^g
^^
f
^i=^-
:=r=^--:^
4^
i
house;'
'Oh
such tid - ings give os pain, No longer we eing
joy
fnl
r7\
±±:
:fer
#=^
-^r^f-r
5: > I
strain, We'll ride
r*
a - way, we'll rido
:5=qt
a
far, Where
T:-
all.
PJ^
the good lit - tie
i^
I '>WJ
-<r:^-v^
g 7 *
fc±=t
T*^-*
§S:
f
^
-r-4-^E^
chil -dren are, We'll ride a - way, we'll ride a - far. Where all.... the
s
-VniT
^
^
3^33
i^Et
* ■_! — I m-
all the good lit
135
=• — •-
S
r
^
good lit - tie
chil - dren are, Where
• tie chil
dren
1/
are.'
Child, hide Thee I
' The child must soon learn
The good to discern ;
While the good shalt thou treasure
And heighten his pleasure."
5|kI VE knights in full trot are coming hither :
'^ They want my child, they would take him thither.
Hide thee, child ! oh, hide thee now !
Where thou art must they never know.
Please, fair knights, I pray you.
Trot off and don't delay you.
Is it not now ver\' clear.
That my darling is not here.^
Hop, hop, hop ! hop, hop, hop !
Away now they go, galop, hop !
Now peep out and say good-bye !
Swiftly trot the fine knights away.
No. 44.
(m.m. y=92.)
HIDE THEE, CHILD!
$
s
b ^
Five knights in haste I see coming hither, They want my child, they wonid take him thither I
i
/T\
=»=*
i
a
t
5
^
* '
» X
f
it
?=^
Hide, thee, dar- ling, oh hide thee now. Where then
(M.M.J =138.)
& i S N
art may they nev - er know I
^f=^T=^
4
it
Ewg
fc
£
?:
i=^
:k=t
# — »-
3t
f
7^ ' 'I t-* ^
Please, fair knights, I pray you, Trot off and don't de - lay you I Is
not DOW
y^-i3-r
^^
^
fclci^
#
te^ !« : Ls-
n^^^p^^^^
ver-y clear. That my dar -ling is not here?
flop, hop, hop, hop, hop, hop, hop, hop,
i
*
fj^Fg=»:
^
^S^
«:
#
*
^E
-«—
^^
bop hop hop hop hop hop hop, A - way now they go,
^-A-i^
2^:
I
7 / Jl-
;^T
-^^-^-
-•-f-t:
T^
T-»-
fc=P
^
Gal - op, hop,
(m.m. J=92.)
gal - op,
-N — ^
=¥=^=^-
\-
' ' b
hop, A -way now they go^ Qalop, hop, galop, bop.
^-
Now peep out and say good-bye!
i
; j^ i-i
©-^
-fis-
^
^
;i^
^^
fc:3:
^*-
-0 — ^ -^ — ^
ly trot the five knights a -way,
Swift
Now peep out and say good - bye!
m
^
i
*^
-g — f"^ — t
i
^^
i
f
Swiftly trot the fi?e knights a • way,
Swift
ly — trot the five knights
way.
Hiding of the Child
What makes my child so glad and gay
While now at "hide-and-seek" we playf
'Tis the sense of personality
That stirs his heart so merrily;
The conscious feeling, "It is II
When one is heard his name to cry,
A new degree in life is gained
When "hide-and-seek" we have attained.
A confidence, a tender trust
Has dawned within the child's young breast.
In after years these shall abide,
And courage give when dangers hide.
Song.
-{fi^HILD of my heart, oh say,
Where have you hidden away?
I miss iny darling from my side :
Where is he now ? Where can he hide ?
I look in vain at every turn, —
Oh, he is gone ! gone, gone, gone !
Where my child is, who can tell me ?
He with joyous thanks shall fill me.
Oh, he is here, this child so dear I
Close to my heart I feel him near.
So thus in life we often find
To what is nearest we are blind.
Ko. 45.
(M.M. J =60.)
HIDE.
i
fe
BES3
s
I
-#-5-
/TV
( M.M. J = 92.)
w
^
:^
Child cf my heart, oh say.
i
I:
^
i
Where do yon hide to-day ?
J-
miss
mj
S
^
i
'^•-
r
dar - ling from my side, Where
i
t:
J
3^
-# *•-
J-
is he now? where can
N S
he hide? I
^S
■y-d-
5=^
^
-•-r-
i^
^^3
^•-
:ook
m
yain at
ev - 'ry
turn,....
Oh be is gone, gone, gone, gone, gone.
[M.M. ^>i=100.)
s
fc
m
^f\
i
:^^
f
t
Where
my child is who can tell me, He with joy - ons thanks shall fill mo. Oh,
i
i:
±
ra
I
^
zS-
^m
1 —
^
^B=5^
^^=^
^
:i=l
ha
ft
IS
tar
here,
i
(^n - do,
I 'v.! * -# — € — «-
it
this child sc dear,
(J=92.)
-a ^ — US ^
Close to my heart I
feel him near.
— N~
="^
&
^^
1^
:r
Close to my heart I feel him near. So thus in life we of - ten find, To
i
*:
^
^
•* N
^=^
te
^
^
what
IS
near
est
we — are blind ;
So
thus
ID
tlfO
we
i
^
^t
Q-JU-iU4::a
f
of
S
ten find.
TV)
what
18
near
we.
are blind.
-itf-
^11
The Toyman and the Maiden.
'Thf. child enjoys the toyman's treasure,
And thou with the child hast equal pleasure.'
%0
Song.
"d^^T7AkE me, take me, mother, pray,
b^i To the toyman's shop to-day.
Tiny cupboards there we see,
Dolhes, such a company !
Tables, chairs, commodes, combine
To make the dolly's house so fine.
The Christmas sale it is to-day,
And everything looks bright and gay ;
Oh, let me to the toyman go,
And all my pretty things buy new ! "
" Well pleased am I to have you go,
And see the toyman's pretty show ;
Yet, ere we betake us there.
Let me whisper in your ear :
The daughter that I take with me
Ever kind and good must be ;
Thoughtful and polite to all.
Cheerful too, whate'er befall ;
For when she cross and fretful grows,
Quickly the mother's eyes shall close
To all the pretty things around ;
Nothing to buy can then be found.
And when the mother sees nothing to buy,
Good Santa Claus from the child shall fly."
" Mother dear, come, and you shall see
How diligent, kind, polite I will be."
" Toyman, tell me what I may choose
For the diligent child to use ? "
k'S
The Toyman and Boy.
"^n^ATHER, father dear, I pray,
'~^ Take your hat and cane to-day !
Let us to the toyman go.
And see his gay and pretty show :
Sheep and shepherds, herds of cattle,
Horses swift, of fiery mettle !
Father, father, take me pray,
To the toyman let's away."
" Well pleased am I to have you go
To the toyman's merry show ;
Yet, ere we betake us there,
Let me whisper in your ear :
Naught to the father's eyes looks fair
If the boy by his side will take no care
To obey his wishes, shun what is not good,
To be diligent, gentle, of cheerful mood ;
And should the father choose nothing to buy.
Good Santa Glaus will hasten away."
" Father, oh father, come now I pray !
I will be thoughtful and good to-day."
"Toyman, I hear thou hast for the boys
Pretty and useful Christmas toys.
Show me, then, from the lovely treasure
What to buy for the good boy's pleasure."
" Wheelbarrows, handcarts, wagons are mine,
Their use with pleasure the boy may combine.
148
He surely wil! feel his courage rise
To see these horses with fiery eyes.
Bows and quivers will give him strength
To bend the bow and speed the shaft. ' ^Tl
I never can tell you the whole of my stock,
You yourself may choose as you look."
" Then, toyman, when Santa Claus comes by,
Tell him Adolphus was here to-day ;
He the pretty things may choose,
Both for enjoyment and to use.
When a good and willing boy he is,
His wishes and hints we are glad to please."
^^p^^^s^^.^^
*^^> '-
The Church Door and Window.
"When all things blend in harmony divine.
Which speaks alike in color and in form,
The child must feel it round his heart entwine.
And his whole being bends in reverence warm.
Then lead the child above all else to feel
That all in highest aspiration must unite.
Far easier then it seems may'st thou reveal
The pathways that to highest joys invite ;
And when life's highest has to him been given,
He feels it a protecting power from Heaven,
Nor think then that the child too little is.
Within the youngest heart a magnet lies
That draws him ever into sweet accord ;
But discord draws around the gathering cloud.
Would'st thou with the child maintain a union true.
Let the light of unity in all thy deeds shine through."
'S'TPHE light within the window gleams
°^^ All through the little church it streams.
Behold the door is open now,
That all within the church may go ;
And every one who enters there
To be attentive must prepare.
tf^/fa
-i^\
.^-
^1
-C^'
150
^1'- 1 \ '-^
No. 46.
THE CUCKOO.
(m.m. J = 80.
SEj^
EMzSz^
^^g-
-«— «^
*:
liz—t
=S=«=
liiij:
Coo, <'oo, Coo coo, Coo
coo,
Tho cue - koo now
1/
is
-V-iir
-9—
T— •-
-#— »f-
calJ - ing; Coo
hfO-zg j^7 g-t^^^->-]-g-g-r-^zs-s-4->^-3^, .-^ >^-i^jU-:—A
fi^ ^ -^ g g 7 1 — g-^.-4- '^ ^ > L ! ! . -;— M=^--^- -.;=^=¥=^=
coo,
Coo coo, Coo coo !
His note on the ear
IS
fall - ing. Coo coo, Coo coo. Coo
Llj '-' '' '-^-^-i-^- P l\ J . i-H. 1 /-r .—,--,-^-±^,-4^^fJ=n
-§^-i-^-«— p-*-*— i— s-i-S^«— S-j-fjiJ — * 7 ; " f J — S-j^S— t-if-s
COO, yes, yes! The lit - tie bird is all alone, Coo coo, Coo coo. Coo coo, yes, yes. But
*
8=1-
S=iEE3=^53^
^— >r-
^dt
T-A"
t
S:
J±
-V— V-
now
un - to my child has flown. Coo coo. Coo coo, Coo coo. Oh, now has my child
the
i
*
A.
P
s
t
cue
koo spied, How sweet with the
cue
koo the mo - ments sjlide ; Coo
-X!—»-
^?— 2
I
:S:
=¥=P=
coo,
Coo 000,
be
lov
ed child,
Coo
1^
coo,
Coo
coo,
my child I
Nos. 47 & 48 Are spoken.
No. 49. THE CHURCH WINDOW AND CHURCH DOOR.
(m.m. y= 104.)
I
fc
'^ ;t jjW l-!i^ i
'-^
r
■^
-tS-
Tan light with - in
the win
r
dow gleams,
All through the
lit - Ue
i
t
±
s
^
Be • hold
church
it streams.
the
153
door.
is
- pen now,
That
-o-
4=:^-^
~ffl=5^
all will) - in.
. thT
- -0-.-
x=^-
-.i>-
-Si-
^:g:— nVg^
-S^.-
?
cliurcli may go. And ev - ry ono who en - ters there To
w
le:
-77 1-
be
m
at
ten
tive must
m^0^^^^^^
:5=±^
Vt — !-
^
-#-^ ^ "''^ g-
^
=8=
pre - pare.
Now hearken
while the or<?an's
j^=5-.-
rf-f ^ J.
r
tone, Throngh solemn aisles is bomo a - long, La,
lo,
:g:
<7\ -
« x> i z.
-a ^ tf-
i
r- — H
:g=*
^=«--
4=-
^
t-
-ss-
lo la la In lo
*=^^ -ff- -25-
4:^=^:
la, lo, la, lo
lo lo
lo
IJ^IZg
g=2i;:r
-(S*-
:^
-•-X- tSi;
-e . ^
i-T=x^
SEIirf^
0 — ^
lo.
And the bell np - on — the tower
Calls in
4=]
:|:
-^ — o-
1 1^-^
love - ly
-M-
122:
%
:azi
—O-
r
3=
-iifi-
-O-
^
m
tones the hour,.,
bim bam banm, bim bam baum, bim bam baum.
±
:^:
--CA-
bim bam baum, bim bam banm, bim bam baum, bim bam baum, baum.
m
E^^
:^
-7^-
'^^-^0-
E=S
^
±
=g
±
•+=
^::=s:
^=
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311
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No. 50 Is spoken.
The Little Artist
Slight is the skill thy child may show,
Almost nothing to thee;
But from the little much may grow,
Though that little least may be.
Whatever we see around us here.
Although immeasurably great,
Began within the smallest sphere.
All share an equal fate.
Rushing streams that deafen the ear
In rivulets had their source ;
And the great sun, with rays so clear.
In dawn began his humble course.
God said, unto the least be true ;
May not this law the child pursue ?
Then make it the law of thy life and will
To unfold his mind in its simple skill.
Song.
tET me now thy finger take,
^'j^xf^ .'^nd pretty pictures we will make.
Here are little birds that fly >t>t-
Over this little hill so high ; >,«%^
Here upon this little tree ^
Hangs a little plum for thee; .^
On this slender branch at rest y
The bird has built his little nest ; Y
All about this little house ^
Runs and nibbles this little mouse; $3,
Up these little steps we go, rH
Can peep out of the window now ; rp]
On the roof we see the tile pi
And mirrors hang upon the wall ; ^
Within the room a table high cp
On it this great fish doth lie -c^s^
This slender bridge rnay carrv us
The little sparkling brook across -^^_^
Here a ladder tall appears. ti
Here we see the tailor's shears, o;,^
^m
Here the i)ij^con-honse so high,. .
In and out the jiigeons fly.
Here the showy rooster crows %^
Here the hide nihhit goes ^§
Now we see the hare that shows. . k\
Such a little stumpy nose ^
This the saw both sharp and long, j }
Here we have tlie harrow strong ; . . >>^^
Thus we make the busy plough "^
The servant's jiitcher now we siiow. o=l
The wagon that shall carry mm
A party blitiie and merry.
The wagon-wheel we have, ^
With felloes, spokes and nave.
Here the sun is beaming .„
With dazzling rays outstreaming ;
And this is our beloved star >f(.
That sends its splendor from afar.
This is the eye so bright '^
Here shine the stars by night : . . . . *,»,*
And in the starry snow •'•
Tliese flower-forms we know ■;§■ ■4-*
'I'his is the moon that sluncs by night,
.'\nd makes the laborer's task more light, O
And by her form is tokl
If she be young or old O ) © 3
And here we come to the. last, and draw
The good familiar little church door. . . fl
Yet here we need not end ; long will
it take
To mention everything my child can
make.
The things themselves in time must
disappear,
But the creative power remains for-
ever here.
When the child then casts his eyes
around,
And sees how vast the field he may
command,
Should he the artist's call through life
pursue,
.•\ world awaits him ever rich and new.
CONCLUSION.
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1st ALTO.
Sd ALTO.
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TO MOTHERS.
oM«o
EXPLANATION OF THE PLATES.
I. — THE MOTHER AND CHILD.
A MOTHER, penetrated by the dignity and importance
of her position, and her true, loving heart filled with the
high significance of the call, " Come, let us with our
children live," is surrounded by her children, and endeav-
ors to develop, through song, the thoughtfulness and the
versatile life-harmonies of their natures.
Other children are attracted by this, and join the gay,
peaceful circle. They approach with modest diffidence,
doubtful as to their welcome into the lovely garland. For
a harmonious life-development is the vivifying spirit which
reigns there, awakening instinctive reverence which is
expressed in a certain shyness.
To perceive this spirit of harmonious life, fosters its
existence, and guards its possession, impelling the little
girl to thoughtful care of growing things. A hly, the
flower of childhood and image of its innocence, is what
she prefers to water and take care of. A similar animating
spirit of harmony moves the vigorous boy to the consider-
ation of active life. The bird's nest, for instance, with
the unfolding strength within it that enables the little birds
to rise so high on airy wing, — this chains his attention,
his wonder.
What boy and girl play in earliest childhood, cherished
by their loving mother's caresses, will become, by and by,
a beautiful reality of serious life ; for in this first step they
have expanded into stronger and lovelier youthfulness,
seeking on every side appropriate objects to vivify the
thoughts of their inmost souls. The svi^eet fragrance of
the lily stills the yearning of the boy's heart, as its delicate
yet strong form does that of the girl's. The little girl,
blooming into womanhood, rests secure in her own har-
moniously developing soul, as she securely stands, poised
on the ball so easily turned ; the boy, growing up towards
manhood, stands firmly, in a thoughtful spirit, striving for
clearriess, on the cube which makes known to him its
simple laws.
Under such conditions as are here given, innocence
and gayety, love and peace, bloom unremarked from the
lily that has been nursed by the child, and struggle toward
their high fountain, — the sun, — through the stalk that
bears the blossoms.
Nature, in her daily and nightly phenomena, pours her
blessings on such work and such care : the sun by day,
as Ariadne's crown ' by night, sends down its rays upon
all mothers, and awakens in each womanly soul the per-
ception of the truth, that " only you who are thoughtful
and educated can make children happy." The angels
and dwellers in the heavens send their messengers to
carry the bough of peace as a reward to such pure, hu-
mane, child-fostering, motherly life ; God's Spirit stoops,
like a dove from heaven, to give the highest sanction to
the mother's earnest, thoughtful work ; and from the clouds
sounds a voice, saying, " This is that nurture of my chil-
dren in the garden of life with which I am well pleased."
II.
Absorbed in contemplation of your child, and inspired
by the feeling that it is sent to you by the Father of all
beings, as a revelation of his own nature, and is therefore
at one with him, and that it is intrusted to you for thought-
ful, careful nurture, — regard it, O happy mother! as an
immediate gift from God.
You are filled with the joyful anticipation that this
child's nature, so rich in manifoldness, in individuality
and peculiarity, — the reflection of your own nature, — is
to be developed by your educating care.
As you observe manifoldness, diversity, and contrast,
more and more displaying themselves in the nature of
your child, your heart will be filled with silent pleasure,
foreboding that these qualities will reveal themselves in
finer forms as life goes on. You are certain, that, like the
most heterogeneous appearances of the outer world, the>
will, in the clear light of your mind, be resolved into har-
mony and clearness of life, as in a clear sea of peace.
The outward manifestation of diversity and contrast
in the soui of your child will be clearly shown as ele-
^ See Sunday paper edited by Friedrich Froebel, vol. i. lo, 13, p.
Ariadne and Herder's Ariadne.
IbS
merits of the full harmony of his life. You see how the
movements and use of his limbs, the activity of his body
and senses, seem to engross him ; and you will see how to
seize, prove, and understand the life of the ciiild as one,
in all its manifoldness, and through all its apparent
diversity and contrasts ; and lunv he will feel and show
his individuality, as he takes what is without into himself,
to assimilate and give it out again, like a healthy tree,
which draws into itself the diverse elements of nature, —
the materials of the earth, — works them up into its own
being, accoriling to its own laws, and gives them out again
in leaves, sap, and fruit. In this presentiment of harmony
(the inner unity of all beings) which so gladly and decid-
edly speaks out in all the expressions of your child, his
nature is made manifest to you as a spiritual unity.
The oneness of nature, life, soul, spirit; of presenti-
ment, feeling, perception, consciousness ; the multiplicity
and contrast of the various indications of life brought out
by the right comprehension and management of the child,
so that all within and around him shall be in united bal-
ance,-— -yes, in beautiful harmony, — it is iJiis, O thought-
ful, careful mother ! which, as well as the clearer reflection
of your own being and life, so greatly delights you in your
child.
So, in the watching, nurturing care, in the strengthen-
ing and development of your child, in all the indications
of hi^ life, this clear conviction will come to you, that the
child dimly foresees, not only the unity of all things, whicli
he undoubtedly feels in himself but presentiments develop
themselves in him that carry him on to define the idea
tliat all things have their source in one fountain of life,
which he ]xrceives in himself; as you, O pure, believing
mother ! clearly recognize that your child's nature, like
your own, is godlike, — a spark from God. For every
existence and life is but a iiroclamation that God lives in
it.
Therefore, loving mother, the gi'eatest problem and juy
of your life is to feel yourself one with your child as with
God ; your child one in itself and also in active relations
with the outer world, with mankind, and with nature ;
above all, as in unity with God, the Source and Father of
all things,' — -as a child of (lod, and to be brought up as
such.
Do you ask. How and through what is all this shown?
the answer is written on your heart, and unconsciously and
artlessly expresses itself in all your simple, motherly ways.
It is shown us by the manifoldness and the wholeness of
the c^hikl's body, — his limbs and senses, his inclinations
and observations, his motions and struggles, by his upward
reaching towards consciousness of himself anil the per-
sonal relations to yourself and others, which he already
begins to distinguish, and which touch his inner life, by
the perce]5tions of his just-awakening sjiirit.
All this you yourself know and say and teel, that your
child must be cherished, governed, and trained to be tnie
to the laws of his own nature and of all life. His body
links him with the material earth, his limbs unite it with
the outer world by ever new relations with it, as his senses
with the one harmonious working world of thought. Its
dawning consciousness of self, its upward-reaching pre-
sentiments and awakening spirit, unite him with all which
appears and makes itself known as life. He does not
combine with them at first, but shows himself already in
inner union with the whole world of life, as well as with
the spirit world. To comprehend your child, O faithful
mother ! to understand his nature, and the corres]jonding
phenomena of that nature in this primitive and indissoluble
union, in his self-dejjendence and spontaneity ; to form,
to cherish, to develop, to cultivate him according to all
the governing laws and claims of his being, — this will
solve the problem of the education of your child, nothing
less.
" But what now are the phenomena in which your
child's nature expresses itself in diversity and opposition,
as well as in harmony? " They are those which are uni-
versal, wherever life expresses itself in form, whether in
the animate or inanimate world, those phenomena which
manifest themselves in the vegetable and animal king-
doms, as well as in the life of mankind.
As we see the corn in the seed, the fledged bird in the
egg, so in the feeling we must look for the thought : cer-
tainty is eventually evolved from uncertainty. And so,
mother, do the first manifestations of your child's life
reveal themselves to you ; in this uncertainty, which is
the husk of life, the fulness of life lies, and reveals itself;
)'ou see it in the swelling l)uds and the growing fawns.
As the fulness of life now so greaUy delights you in your
child, so you must awaken in him a susceptibility to the
versatility of all whii h life gives and draws out ; so the
tenderest jjlants and youngest fawns are drawn out by the
gradual influence of light and warmth, and the most deli-
cate impressions of their surroundings. Furthermore, a
versatile excitability antl sensibility are analogous to in-
ward susceptibility, as in nature the tenderest buds and
youngest fawns are stirred by the slightest change of con-
dition, and attracted by the softest touch.
By and in this susceptibility and excitability of the
child, often bringing with it pain and trouble to the child
itself as well as to those who surround him (especially to
you, faithful, anxious mother) we yet see him develop his
true nature, distinguishing with facility what is suited to
it, as each little plant and each young animal selects from
the ])henomena of nature that which is most conformable
to itself
But above all is the child impelled toward a more
natural and free development of his being, which makes
itself known in all the phenomena of life, in a general
universal activity, as well as in the individual activity of
■50
his senses, limbs, and body ; and whicli, in spite of the
Durity of tlie inmost source, causes so much misunder-
standing and trouble, pain and danger, in life.
Thus rising from the strengthening and developing of
tlie body, limbs, and senses, to their uses ; from the im-
pression to the perception of things ; from perception to
obser\'ation and contemplation ; from acquaintance with
individuality and knowledge thereof to a recognition of
mutuality ; from the healthy life of the body, senses, and
limbs, to the healthy life of the spirit; from action united
with thought to the pure thought ; from healthy, strong
sensation, to the thinking mind ; from the outer concep-
tion to the inner comprehension ; from the outward
grouping to the inward comparison and judgment ; from
the outward combination to the inward inference ; thus
rising from the outward understanding to the inward com-
prehension, to the development and cultivation of the
intellect ; from the outward a]3prehension of phenomena
to the inner examination of their foundation and cause,
to the development and cultivation of the life-grasping
reason ; the clear image of the individuality of each na-
ture will appear, at a later period to the child, in further-
ance of the education of his mind and soul ; and he
shall finally recognize first himself, and tlien the whole of
which he is a part, — as one idea.
So you lead your child from the thing to the picture,
from the picture to the symbol, from the symbol to a
grasping of the nature of the thing as a spiritual whole ;
so are developed the ideas of individuality and whole-
ness. At a later period, in the -gradual progress of his
education and cultivation, your child will see clearly
within his own soul, that his life is a part of all life, of
the life of his family, of his nation, and of all mankind ;
and that God exists, lives, and works in all and through
all. To e.\hibit, then, this fulness of life, which is so
clearly formed within him, in all his feelings and thoughts,
his deeds and relations outside of himself, in action and
form, is from this time his own life-problem ; and so he
will learn that presentiment, life, and nature are united, as
phenomena, knowledge, and revelation. Life will be to
him revelation of ths unity of nature and mankind, and
thus of the oneness of Clod : it will be, therefore, a life of
peace, of joy. And that aspiration for your child, O dear
mother, which you felt before his birth, and which you
have cherished in your heart and life, will be fulfilled.
III.— GLANCE AT THE MOTHER ABSORBED IN
THE CONTEMPLATION OF HER CHILD.
What shines and warms and glows through your whole
being, like a soft flame, dear mother, when you gaze at
your sleeping darling? What gives to the least help
which you afibrd him such significance and importance
as teaches you to execute with the greatest care even the
most unpleasant tasks, from the very thought of which
the girl turns away ? What gives you consideration, per-
severance, courage, self-sacrifice, and peace, even in those
phenomena of your child's life which are brought out by
pain and sorrow ? It is that you see . the smallest thing
(whether it relates to order, cleanliness, food, or whatevei
it may be) in its coherence, its union with the great life
of the whole, and also in its re-actions from the same :
it is that you survey, though in the dimmest anticipation,
the life of your child as a whole, in which each individual
thing, however small, shows itself as progressive develop-
ment. It is that you already see the artistic in the pres-
ent activity. It is the anticipation and perception, the
comprehension and conteriiplation, of life as a whole, in
which each individual thing will be recognized in its right
place and in its true signification, that gives to your life
and work all the above-mentioned high qualities. Thus
you see and recognize in this, and through your own life
and mind, knowledge and work, that if you would have
your beloved child achieve his destiny and fulfil his voca-
tion for artistic life and work, as you fulfil your womanly
destiny and motherly vocation, appreciating and recog-
nizing the small, victorious over the disagreeable, with
consideration, perseverance, and courage, you must not
only from the very first feel your child's life as a whole,
in which the smallest thing has its signification and
its progressively developing importance ; but you must
also perceive and recognize it and hold fast to it in the
inner life of the little one, as well as through his external
actions. Then will your child's life show, in each of its
steps and in the wholeness of its development, all the
glorious attributes that human life makes known to us all.
And, mother, we must consider th.r.t our own life shows
something wanting, because we, alas ! too early, departed
from that nobleness of heart and soul, which embraces
the smallest things, and makes the coherence of life ; and
therefore did not attain to the recognition and clear per-
ception, still less to the firm holding on to the same, until,
perhaps, quite late in life, when the most beautiful and
richest opportunities of our lives, and their loveliest phe-
nomena, were gone forever. But what phenomenon is
dearer and more important to us, on what do we rest
more peacefully, and what does art unweariedly bring
anew before us in the most individual point of view in
the picture? Art brings childhood; the motheriiness
and the childlikeness of the baby-time of our life into
most intimate union and mutual penetration. But it
brings only one form before us, though it presents an
ideal perception of it. But where are the hundreds and
hundreds of forms with which mother-love has fostered
and developed our life? They are lost from sight in the
sea of the past, and yet are the waves which shall some
time bring us and our life-ship safely to harbor. This
truth should be recognized and held fast.
IGl
These mother and play songs themselves, and, above
all, the marginal jjictures, furnish a small and imperfect
beginning, not only suggesting that the baby life of the
child is the true ijudding-time, the first period of devel-
opment of the whole artistic life of mankind ; but it is
also a beginning to the common knowledge, true per-
ception, and deep recognition of all which you, O mother !
have done for your darling ; and also of the opinions,
the views, the aim, and, in general, the spirit in which you
have worked. Take the book, and hold it, mother ; be
kind and indulgent ; do not dwell too scrutinizingly on
the art of the representation. This is the first attem]3t
for such an object, and with such a spirit : it must needs
be imperfect ; yet it may e.\])lain to you what hitherto you
have instinctively practised in anticipation of your high
vocation, but more from a loving feeling than with in-
sight and perception, and therefore often irresolutely
and with many mistakes. If through all this you have
attained to humble self-knowledge, then you will easily
overlook the imperfection of this first attempt. Children
do so already, in and for themselves ; and as these songs
and i)lays clearly show you the ]5resent, and give you an
intuitive perception of the future, so shall they form for
your dear little one (in its next year, when it has ad-
vanced from the object to its representation, in fact,
already perceives the symbol in it) a picture-book held
in your hand, vivified by your speech, warmed by your
heart, which shall bring back to the child the short past
of its little life, its first and earliest childhood, to be held
fast, not perhaps merely as an external foundation, but as
the germ of its whole future artistic life.
For, what the mother arouses and fosters.
With her first thoughtful play and song,
That which her love protectingly cherishes.
Works with blessing on and on.
Is not this also the case with the feelings which your
first-born child and each child in succession has aroused
in you, as you gazed upon it in its first soft manifestations
of life on your lap and in your arms? .Are not these
feelings, which guided you gently yet urgently to the
api)reciating and loving fostering of your child (for its
own welfare as well as for your own peace and restfiil-
ness), worth the repetition of this most delicate consid-
eration and care? Do not these feelings promote this
repetition? Should fFiey be overlooked? Were it not
for the feeling of inexpressible happiness, were it not for
the sense of blessedness whicli flowed through you, and
brought you to a higher condition of existence, likewise,
how could your coimtenance have drawn out the expres-
sion of a higher inward perfection, — a heavenly mildness
and clearness? Who that saw you could escape this con-
viction ? How could yoin- consciousness of having given
life and existence to a child, and your intelligent gaze at
it, have that effect? It was the anticipaticn of an im-
speakable blessing given at the same time with human
existence and life.
But, O mother ! is it not also true that the care for the
preservation of the external life of this gift from Cod
soon throws the higher feelings and recognition more and
more into the background ; indeed, only too often causes
them finally to vanish ? But must it indeed be so ? Are
not these feelings a sweet reward for the ineffable throes
and keen suffering which gave earthly existence to the
heavenly gift ; the spirit's grasp of that highest motherly
fostering, which shall later follow your child through its
whole life, at least, through its whole educational life, till
the time of independent maturity? I believe the latter.
Let me bring before you what I mean, in a true and
veritable picture of an actual fact in life.
When I v/as a boy with awakening tl-.oughts of nature,
I discovered, under the hedge of white roses in my
father's garden, a little, almost imjierceptible rosy flower,
with five petals and five golden points in its midst. It
was a simple wild flower ; and a hundred much finer
flowers stood around in the garden, tended by my father's
carefiil hand, while this was only allowed to bloom un-
cared for in an obscure place. Yet it was just this flower
which, more than all others, attracted my attention ; for
when I looked into its crown and between its golden
.stars, I believed that I gazed into an endless depth.
Through months and years at its time of blossoming, for
hours have I gazed into it. It seemed always to wish to
say something to me, and yet I could understand noth-
ing : therefore I thought that I must necessarily discover
something in the flower by and by, if I did not weary of
looking into it.
With such love, such longing, such anticipation, dear
mother, I think you look into the soulful countenance,
into the clear light of the eyes of the child, unfolding
like a flower before you : you also would discover some-
thing, in truth a heaven, in the child's starry eyes. My
gaze at the flower resembles your gaze at the child ; and
so I think I understand yon, and you, me. We under-
.stand each other directly, through our gaze at our dar-
lings.
The boy wandered from his father's house, left the
lovely garden, and the wild flower was forgotten. Only
think of his joy when the youth, now more intimate with
nature, found his flower again I He found it in company
with the hazel-hush, whose flovvers, not less significant,
also burst forth in early spring ; and with the same fer-
vent love as of old, yes, wth the same longing, he gazed
into it again. And now it uttered its speech, — now it
taught him to anticipate the mystery of existence, and
the development of mysterious laws ; but it also vanished
again in the life-stream which .absorbs all things.
Yet it was not gone forever. When t oecame a nun,
conscious of working out my vocation, the flower met
me again. Wliat it had showed me in anticipation, I had
now found in the trees which last ten, a hundred, yes, a
thousand years, — a symbol of the recognition of good
and bad, right and v\Tong, the actual and apparent. Now,
after fifty years, it is clear to me, why, as a thoughtful
boy, I gazed so longingly into the depths of the flower.
The genius of life allowed me to contemplate- therein, in
anticipation, the depths of life, its laws and signification.
What I saw here symbolically, dear mother, your eyes
contemplate in reality, in your dear child. Shall fifty
more years go by you, as they did by me, before you ex-
plain clearly to yourself what the child's life tells you
about itself and about life in general? Then, when life
is almost past, will the recognition of the truth be of so
much use to you or your child ? What does the yearning
gaze into the star-like flower and into the child's eyes
teach? " Whatever unfolds itself, whether flower, tree, or
man, is given as a condition in the coUectiveness of its
existence ; and that he is to be a full, perfected man, is
as manifest in the first appearance and in the first glance
of the child, as the perfected flower and tree is manifest
in the first appearance of the flower and tree."
In short, the transfiguring gaze at your child, O mother !
is caused by your anticipation and desire to find within
him the whole human nature, a nature destined for com-
pletion and perfection. But what is this abstract human
nature, which, unencumbered and unabridged, clearly
shows itself in your child? Your child, just because he
is yours, that is, a human child, is destined to live in the
past and future, as well as in the present. He brings
into existence with himself a heaven of the past ; he may
give through his manifestations a heaven in the present.
and disclose in himself the heaven of the future. The
threefold heaven which you carry in yourself beams also
towards you from your little child.
The animal lives only in the present : it knows neither
the past nor the future in their extension. But Hope dis-
closes the view of the future, the heaven of the future ;
Love opens the iieaven of the present, the feeling of
the inner, united existence of all life, sorrow as well as
joy ; and Faith lifts up her gaze from the past. For what
mind would not be filled with the firmest faith, the most
divine faith in all goodness, truth, holiness, manlikeness,
and Godlikeness, when it looks with thoughtful and clear
eyes into all the past? And where is the man, in whose
spirit such looking into the facts of the past, would not
become the " believing which is sight," the perception of
the truth ? And is it not the spirit of truth which guides
the true life ?
These union points of our highest and holiest human
life, present, past, and future ; these three genii of human
life, faith, love, and hope, pour their beams upon you
already, O mother ! from your child's innocent face. It is
the anticipation that the highest possibilities of mankind
are already contained in your child, which so glorifies
your nature in the contemplation of your first-born, and
of each of your new-born children. Foster this thought,
O mother ! for by it you will unite your child's existence
with the oneness of all life ; the threefold nature of the
little one with the foundation of all light, all love, and all
life, — God.
And so in faith, in love, in hope,
Your child sees heaven already ope ;
And God, the life, the light, the love,
Shall fit its soul for heaven above.
EXPLANATIONS OF THE MARGINAL PICTURES OF THE
PLAY-SONGS.
PLAY OF THE LIMBS.
Life, thoughtful, tender mother, is the central point of
all your feelings, your sensations, your thoughts ; life is
the focus, and point of reference, of all your working,
acting, and doing ; and therefore each and every mani-
festation of life in your beloved child suggests to you and
arouses in you the feeling and working, the thinking and
doing, which make inward harmony. Nothing therefore
gives you more pleasure than to observe and consider the
serene and powerful manifestations of life in your child,
as soon as they begin ; and when they so attract you, if
you are not deterred by prejudice, custom, and error, you
will feel yourself summoned to foster and guard the self-
ruling principle of your child, thereby to strengthen,
develop, exercise, and cultivate it, and so to lead him to
self-culture, first of all.
Your child lies on the clean pillow before you, in the
strength-giving air-bath, after a bath of pure water has
already strengthened him ; feeling strongly the health of
his whole body, he lies, and beats the air with his arms,
and kicks with his legs. You feel that he seeks an object,
by means of which he may measure his strength, so that
stretching out his legs he may enjoy the use of them.
Your mother-love goes out to foster the needs and wishes
which are shown by the child's actions : your hands or
breast, against which, by turns, he presses his litde legs,
and toward which he stretches and kicks, will serve to
163
measure and thus to increase the streiiLjth of liis limbs.
Obey the law of motion which is sliown in his opening
strength, and you will th\is foster not only the outward
corporeal life of your child, but also his inner life, the life
of his feelings, sensations, and soul ; not only shall he gain
his bodily strength through yours, I)ut he shall also feel
your love, the thoughtfulness with which you do all this,
and which gives to your deeds and words their melodious
tone. As his awakening and increasing strength is the
oil which feeds the flame of your love, you would like
your child to feel this truth, and by and by to express
it. In the illustrative picture (Plate VII.), the litde night-
lam]!, which you used during the nights when you ke]jt a
loving watch over your child, stands by you, and may be
used as a symbol and image of this truth. A proper use
of strength has extracted from some one of the oil-giving
])lants (the rape, the flax, the poppy, or whatever else is
used in different countries), the oil which supplies the
watcher's lam]) ; and so, by and by, you will teach )-our
child that your mother-love shone forth to foster his
strength and jiowers for a harmonious development. The
pictured oil-mill to the left, near which, in a safe place,
the flax and pcij])y have found room to strike their roots
into the groimd and to grow, will (until you find the
opportunity to look with your child at such a mill in
reality) give some idea of the mill which presses the oil
out of the poppy-seed.
What the' boy and girl see, each imitates in its own way.
A mother takes her litde flock into the neighboring val-
ley, that they may perceive and feel the loving, all-working
power in nature, though they do not as yet understand it.
The boy has sought a place for his toy-mill up there by
the stream, so that, impelled by the water, its wheel may
move more quickly. His younger brother sits by, look-
ing on with wide-open eyes, shading his face from the
blinding sun. that it may not hinder him from seeing and
admiring his brother's work. His elder sister, going more
directly to her object, wades with bare feet in the clear
l)rook, in wliich she tries to press the fine sand into a
dyke. Filled with love, the mother sits, thinking how
differently the children's characters manifest themselves,
though occupied with the same thing, and to the same
end. Mirrored in their childish play, she sees the future
life of the three children, now so intent on binding the
power of the water. The oldest, she foresees, will at
some time employ the strength of his life-power which he
is just beginning to use to attain his ends. The litde
gid through her own life and action will reach direcdy
her goal, holding it fast in her own mind, and devoting to
it all her strength. The younger boy will reach his aim
by seeking to investigate the nature of power, and the
laws of nature's working. Kach of her i)laying children
shows in the present a rich life within ; but the mother
Lves in the ])reseut and the future, as well as in tlie past.
For to the question, "Where are you going?" the poor
woman going by with her basket, who is already partly uj)
the hill, has answered, '• Up to the rich miller, to see if I
can get some oil in exchange for what I bring him ; for
my child is so sick that I must watch with it all night.
Besides I need bread, for I c;an now earn nothing, and
the poor child also must eat." This answer reminds the
mother of the play of the kicking limbs; and looking at
her children, and thinking of them, she asks, " Will their
future life reward with gratitude their mother's love?"
AH I THERE FALL.S MY BAEY DOWN.
A Play for S/rfiiiff/iening the Whole Body.
It is often seen in life, that what is near is overlooked ;
thus it might be with this little song, and it might be
asked, why it has a place in a picture-book when it can-
not be represented by a marginal picture. And yet this
little song and body-play coukl not well be left out ; and
therefore it appears without a marginal picture. It ex-
plains itself to you, thoughtful mother, through itself, and
through the motto, as well as it points out the manner of
playing it.
I see you, dear mother, as you stand before the table
on which a pillow lies flat, or in front of the crib of your
darhng, who, half- sitting, half-lying, leans his fat little
back against the hollowed hands which hold him a litUe
raised above the pillow or crib ; then you let your hands
drop on the pillow softly, yet so as to give the body a
slight jar. Or the child lies on a cushion or thick quilt
before you, and you grasp both his litde hands or arms,
and raise softly the upper part of his body, so that lie
remains in a sitting posture. Now gently drop his hands
or arms, and he will fall back, e.xperiencing through his
whole body a gentle shaking.
This falling backward, thus protected by your care and
love, enhances the child's strength, and gives him the per-
ception of strength ; but you will have, anxious mother,
ojiportunities enough in your later life to make your grow-
ing child perceive and feel that slipping without such
loving care may lead to a bad fall. Yonder glides the
child on its sled over the snow : he has not yet the
eye and strength to guide the sled, and, see, he falls ; for-
timately he has hurt his leg but little, " Learn how to
use your eye, my child, and increase your strength, and
you may skilfully avoid a fall." Yonder the boy slides on
the ice : he looks round carelessly, and lets his feet and
legs go where they will ; he falls, and fortunately his hand
is only a litde hurt. His pain says to him, " Look more
carefiilly, my boy : control the motions of your feet and
legs, that you may not again fall down." Oh ! the little
girl has dropped the smooth plate, and the litde boy the
bright, clear glass, though both the children were carrying
the things so carefully, and did not let their eyes wander
iU4
from them. Tlieir hands and fingers were not strong
enough. "Steadiness and skilful carrying, if accompa-
nied by feebleness and weakness, cannot prevent a fall."
Make a word-picture, mo'dier, from life, when you would
teach your child, and you will not regret that an engraved
picture is not here ; but, on the contrary', will secure a
lifelong fruit of this play for your child.
THE WEATHERCOCK OR VANE.
A Play for the Exercise of the yoiiils of the Hand and Elboiv.
The fore-arm of the child is placed as nearly as possi-
ble in a perpendicular position ; the hand is spread out in
the same direction, so that the four fingers represent the
tail, the flat hand the bod)', and the thumb the head and
neck, of the cock. In this position, let yjur child's hand
move now hither, now thither.
" This play is so very simple, too simple ! " And yet it
pleases the child : the repetition of it always delights, and
will amuse him for a long time. Your child cannot yet
speak ; but only see with what pleasure and earnestness
he moves his little hand when you say to him, " Show how
the weathercock turns" (in many places called a vane),
or, " Show the weathercock." ^Vhat lies at the bottom of
all this? Have you not observed, when you move an
object before your child at a little distance, that to dis-
cover the moving cause, gives him more pleasure than to
look at the moving object itself? It is the same thing
here, the feeling and controlling of the principle of a
result, the cause cf an effect : it is this which makes the
child so pleased and earnest. And see ! he already shows
a perception of what is founded on fact : that in the mov-
ing object is a moving cause, a moving power ; and the
child soon comes to the conclusion that beneath all liv-
ing, moving objects lies a living, moving, animating power.
On a somewhat windy, almost stormy day, go with your
chikhen to the terrace in front of your house ; for where
will not the children love to go with theii- loving, self-
sacrificing inother?
Hark ! how the cock creaks on the steeple ! The wind
is moving its tail now here, now there. Here comes a hen
escorted by her proud cock ; but they are not entirely
subject to the wind like the weathercock, so their tails
are not blown about so much. But hear how the wind
rustles among the clothes that are hanging out to dry :
they appear to tell tales of the strong wind. How the
child enjoys that rustling and chattering ! The boy, who
has brought a towel from the bath which the wind pre-
vented him from taking, ties it to a long stick, and waves
and shakes it in the air. The little girl's handkerchief
and outstretched ami give her equal pleasure. Another
boy finds more enjoyment in his kite, which he tries to
raise up high that it may get more wind. " Clap, clap,
clap, sounds yonder: what is it?" The wind is blowing
J
the sails of the windmill swiftly round, and makes the
clappers beat fast, " clap, clap, clap." And what do the
large ever do, that the small do not try to imitate? (.And
therefore be careful what you, a grown-up person, do in
the sight of the little ones.) Akeady a boy comes run-
ning with his paper windmill : see how it turns faster and
faster as the boy runs. The mother yonder can scarcely
guard her little daughter from the violence of the storm ;
and the man must keep himself well balanced, lest the
wind drive him stumbling.
" Mother, there is to-day a strong wind that bends
every thing : only see how sister's hair blows about like
the clothes on the line. Where does the wind come
from which blows every thing so ? " — " Indeed, my child,
if I were to tell you my idea of it, you would not under-
stand it : it would sound to you like a foreign language if
I should say that the pressure of the air, or a change in
its density or in its temperature, is the cause of the wind ;
you would not understand what I mean. But this you
can understand easily already : any great power, though
it be only that of wind, even if you cannot see it, can
accomplish many things great and small. There are
many things, my child, which we can perceive, but can-
not see; there are others which we can both perceive
and see, but the why I cannot yet put into words for you,
nor explain to you. You can see the motion of your
hand ; but the power within you which moves it, you can-
not see. Consider and foster therefore all the powers
you now feel : by and by you will better understand
whence they come, even if they are invisible."
"ALL GONE."
A Play for Exercising the Joints of the Hand.
The turning of the hands now horizontally, now verti-
cally, is well known to be a negative motion, implying that
a certain thing or person is no longer there. This play,
though it certainly by its motions exercises the joints of
the hand (although in another position of the arm), is
just opposite to the foregoing, both in its accompanying
pictures and meaning. There was an extended actuality,
here a deficiency ; there was a continuance, here a cessa-
tion ; there an actual reference to the present, here a
general expression of the past ; and throughout, a refer-
ence to what was, as compared to what is. Everywhere
there was something which is no longer here : the soup
is gone, the plate is empty, the light burned out, there is
no more salt.
The dog who accompanied the father to the field has
eaten his food : he appeare to be still hungry, but there
is nothing more. The boy is thirsty. " Please, sister,
give me some water." — " There is no more there," she
I says, holding the empty glass upside down that he may
! see for himself. In consequence of this unexpected and
C5
disagreeable information, he turns his attention from the
buttered bread which lies behind him. The sly cat seems
to have noticed this : she glides slowly up, and takes away
the buttered bread to eat it. The boy, desiring it, will
soon turn round, and will call out, " There is no more
there." But I feel sorry for that little girl, because she
had such good intentions : she meant to feed her singing-
bird, and heedlessly left the door partly open, becauss
she saw her sister reflected in the empty glass below.
"Where is your singing-bird, my child?" — "Ah! it is
no longer there : it has flown away." " Come with me,
little sister," said her brother consolingly. " Up in an old
tree I know of a nest with many little birds, which I will
bring to you ; then you will have many instead of one :
come, only come." See the children standing full of
such expectation, that the hungry dog, which has fol-
lowed them unnoticed, eats the bread out of the boy's
hand ; and when he turns round he also cries, " It is no
longer there." The brother is now already on the tree ;
" But what do I see? the birds are no longer there, they
have all flown." — " But one of the litde birds shall yet
be mine," says the otlier brother. " See there, it is caught
and confined under my hat : what a pleasure it will be to
give it to my sister ! just such pleasure as I have in you,
beautiful raspberries, which I find here, and will taste.
You, dear little bird, must in the mean time stay shut up
in the dark." But the wind comes, turns over the hat,
the bird escapes, and the boy when he returns says, " Ah !
the little bird is no longer there."
" Mother, do not show me this picture any more, because
nobody can keep any thing they want." — " You see, my
child, if you want to keep any thing, you must be careful
of it. You must not let yourself be carried away by your
own eagerness. If you wish for any thing at a certain
time, you must be punctual. Through the disappointed
hope of quenching his thirst, the boy forgot his bread ;
through carelessness the little girl let her singing-bird fly
away. The boy had no right to take the little birds from
their nests, and put them in a cage : their strength and
courage has made their freedom secure. The dog ate the
bread of the boy when he was absorbed in expectation ;
and the ])leasure which the boy expected to give his sister
was spoiled by his not being able to resist the attractions
of the raspberry-bushes." — " Mother, let me look again
at the little birds that are flying away."
TASTE SONG.
This little song and play, like that of the falling game,
is given without marginal pictures, with which it can the
more easily dispense, as tlie object itself lies so much
nearer to life than visible objects.
Who does not know and enjoy what you, loving
mother, carry on as play with your child, clothing in de-
1
lightful sport the most important things in life, when jest-
ing and playing with tlie child, you say, " Let me bite," or
" Bite into the pear." " Ah, how sweet, how sweet it
tastes ! "
Come, child, and take the berries white,
The berries of the currant-'mish;
You crunch the fruit with glad delight,
And open wide your mouth for more:
You seem to think them good to e.it.
Although some sour is mixed with sweet.
What is more important for your child than the cultiva-
tion of the senses, particularly of the c^nse of taste, espe-
cially if you deduce from it a mora'.? For who would
willingly have an indiscriminate, low taste? Who is not
pleased if it can be truly said of him, " He has a good
taste, a fine taste " ?
But what is there especially to commend the cultivation
of taste ? The fact that through the taste is made appar-
ent the innermost existence, the soul, the spirit of things,
the vivifying or destroying principle. This is indeed just
the use and the high significance of the senses ; that
through them the innennost nature of things will be made
known and manifest to our innermost, without the neces-
sity of taking up the exterior material, as in the sense of
taste. It is a highly remarkable quality of the senses, that
through them he who has formed them within himself,
by carefiilly following their indications, can already per-
ceive the inner before it can work disadvantageously upon
him, through their enjoyment of things which have a pre-
judicial and health-endangering influence, or before it is
necessary to destroy the thing itself by the enjoyment of
it ; as it is the equally important corresponding quality of
things, that they very frequently demonstrate outwardly
their inner nature, and this is especially the case when
the enjoyment of them is hurtful to the health. Thus
it is well known that at least the greater part and the
i.jost hurtful of the poisonous plants have a gloomy,
sad, wrinkled, tangled appearance ; even the berry of the
nightshade itself, beautifully round and smooth as it ap-
pears, and the spurge-olive with its peach-red blossoms,
share this property, as in a yet higher degree do the thorn-
apple and the black henbane. Where the form does not
betray the noxious property, the odor decidedly reveals
it by the impression of disgust which it causes : even
when the enjoyment of the thing eaten is healthy in itself,
and becomes unhealthy only when too much is eaten,
the taste causes at least slight loathing wliereby disgust
and satiety rcsiflt ; as is the case, for instance, with
honey.
But if the cultivation of the senses, that of sight, and
especially those of smell and taste, is .important in prompt-
ing us to shun many hurtful and unhealthy things, this
ctiltivation is still more important for the de\-elopment and
elevation of the mind and spirit, and for the arousing of
the will to energy -, Tor in all the natural world, the nature
of things makes itself known only through cohesion, sub-
stance, smell, and taste, as well as through form and
figure, size and number, tone and color, and the endless
changes of relations and proportions. The exact, strong,
early cultivation of all the senses is therefore primarily
important, both for man's earlier life, his childhood, and
his later life, his manhood ; and especially as it does not,
as with the savage, include only the bodily and physical,
but endeavors earnestly to seek and perceive the inner-
most nature of things, which lie in them revealed, which
is possible only by considering, linking, and comparing
the workings of the senses. For, as people say, " Speak,
and I will tell you who you are," so things and their na-
ture can be perceived only through the qualities that are
perceptible to the senses. And man's taste becomes
genuinely good and pure only when he understands this
language of things, and through it defines their nature
and spirit, either by observing them, or by their influ-
ence on himself; and, in both cases, allows himself to be
induced to action. For the soul, in fact, the spiritual ac-
tivity of mankind, is revealed in the senses of the child
as well as of the man ; so the senses are, as it were, the
guides to the highest spiritual knowledge. This is espe-
cially the case with the sense of taste in relation to the
body, as well as to the moral spirit. Therefore, inother,
cultivate your child's sense of taste.
Yet, as the taste-song with its motto endeavors to ex-
olain, the cultivation of the senses is not merely impor-
tant for the recognition of the different classes of things,
of their proportions, and of their influence on one
another and especially on mankind ; but the cultivation
of the senses is, in another point of view, not merely as
miportant, but much more so. in regard to the grade and
degree of the physical cultivation, in reference to the
degree of maturity attained by each thing ; and this
principally applies to human life, human relations and
phenomena. A clearer, firmer, more open gaze into
them, shows us that there may be an unlawful use of, or
invasion into, the life of things, before ripeness has been
attained, which is the assured foundation of a mass of
human evil, both in the individual, and in large and small
communities, in the family and citizen life as well as in
business and professional life.
So it is, dear m.other, that, by earnestly striving for the
welfare of your child, a number of the evils destructive
to the individual as well as to the family, to the citizen life
as well as to the business and professional life, are to be
avoided, for they have their assured foundation in this
disturbing influence of the invasion of things which have
not reached maturity, resembling the certain ill effects of
unripe things upon the digestion. Therefore if you,
mother, wish to secure the future well-being of each
individual in your family, as well as of posterity, make
your children, in their first free self-activity, and especially
in their first appropriation of the products of nature, not
only observe the fixed stages of development from un-
ripeness to ripeness, but, above all, the natural repugnance
to the use of all immaturity, in all the relations of life, and
the often destructive re-action of this repugnance on
physical life, and still more on spiritual and social life ;
and you will thus, in your motherly efficiency, become
one of the greatest benefactors of the human race.
A TALK ABOUT SMELLING.
We have seen, in the taste-song already explained, the
high importance of the cultivation of the senses, and
especially of the sense of taste, in order to make us
acquainted with the hidden causes of the outward ap-
pearances about us.
To the sense of taste, however, is closely allied that of
smell : they supply each other's deficiencies, and thus
reveal to us more completely the objects around us, both
in their beneficial and detrimental aspects, not only with
regard to the body, but also with regard to the higher and
purely spiritual life. Very difficult is it for the mother to
decide where the bodily existence ends, and the spiritual
begins. On account of this melting of the physical into
the spiritual, of the vital into the intellectual, of the
instinctive into the moral, is the careful cultivation of the
senses, especially of the taste and smell, which fit into each
other so as to form one whole, indis]3ensable. Where the
senses of sight and taste leave us in uncertainty, that of
smell sets in, and makes all clear to us ; for it is very
remarkable, as we have already said, that every thing inju-
rious to health not only wears a drooping melancholy
aspect to the sight, but conveys a kindred mipression to
the taste and smell ; nay, even to the hearing, as, for
instance, discordant tones in metals, for which reason we
say, "That has the true ring about it," — all of which
shows the immense importance of cultivating the senses.
Further it is important to notice that every thing in itself
good, healthy, and elevating, as soon as it is used in
excess, has an opposite and injurious effect ; for instance,
the scent of the lilac in a small room. Excess always
engenders disgust, disgust becomes loathing, warning us
to avoid excess for health's sake. All this, O mother ! you
can teach in the several games of smelling and tasting,
ard in your loving conversations with your children.
" Mother, I've got a headache." — " What have you been
doing, then ? " — " Nothing but gathering beautiful flowers,
which I have been putting together here." — " Ah ! that is
just it : so many strong-smelling plants, especially those
lilacs in the midst, have loaded the air of the room with
their scents, which work upon your head through youi
nose. We may have too much even of a good thing .
and what is good in itself must have a sufficient sphers
167
for its activity, if it is to be beneficial. It is selfish, my
child, to collect around yourself too much that is good
and beautiful, leaving very lilUe for others to enjoy."
" liut, mother, the plants and flowers seem to love us as
yju do."
They le.id us by example bright
To shun tlie d.irk, and seSk the light.
Blossoms tender, fragrant, coy,
Filling all my heart with joy,
Come and whisper in my ear
How ye live from year to year ;
Your sweet peace to me impart,
And purify my inmost heart ;
Set me aye from danger free ;
When trial comes, admonish me.
All your names I now can tell :
Teach your hinguage to me well ;
Your form and color speak to me,
And say, " You shall not weary be."
Your words, like many perfumes rare.
Float upon the summer air.
Teach to love the true, and know
When pleasure leads to woe;
For within each blossom bright
Lurks a spirit fair and light.
Yes, sweet flowers ! ve vourselvcs
Are kind and ever-watchful elves.
That comfort me when I am weak.
And teach me higher things to seek ;
Pointing me to the God alnn e,
Who made lx>th you and me in love.
Let me pluck you as a prize
To gladden my dear parents' eyes.
And be to ihem a sign from me
Of gratitude and harmony.
E'en the dreadful reaper, Death,
Cannot stop your fragrant breath.
Still it lingers in the air
To soothe me when ye are nrtt there.
Vour beauty and enchanting grace
Remind me of my mother's face, —
Of her who would be fain to die,
Could she but bless her child thereby.
There's nothing fair that I can find.
Which ye recall not to my mind;
For every hour I breathe and live
The gentle counsel ye can give.
To be more loving, kind, and true.
Such lessons I have learned from yon.
Speak to me still : my e.ager ear
Will always ready be to hear ;
Nor will I pluck you in unthinking play,
Lest hidden thorns should make me rue the day.
TIC-TAC.
A Play for Mm'tni; and Training the Arms.
The execution of this play is easy. Your child, foster-
ing mother, stands before )'(ju on a table, as shown by the
picture , or he may sit in your la|) with one of his little
anus free, and so that you, letting the arm hang down
pendulum-fashion, can move it. That the movement is
not confined exclusively to either the right or left arm, is
easily understood, and scarcely needs to be mentioned.
But yet be it said, that, in order that the cultivation of
your child be not confined to one point, this play can be
carried on with the legs also, making now the right, now
the left leg march : all this will lead to a healthy, beau-
tiful, thoughtful, and dexterous development of the child.
Shall we, thoughtful mother, mutually explain something
beyond the picture ? Yet indeed you know all this belter
than I ; for I have learned it first from you, in consider-
ing your thoughtful, motherly acts.
You are entirely right : it is certainly well worth consid-
eration, that children are so much attracted by any thing
that is called a clock. (The Swiss, so expressive in this
and in many other things, call it "time.") I cannot but
retain the persuasion that a higher and inner meaning, a
certain relation of anticipation and affinity in regard to
the spirit, is expressed in this, as in many another play.
It is certain that the invariability of the laws of motion,
the rhythm of the penduluin-beats, has something very
attractive ; and you yourself still remember from your
school-days that the mode and swiftness of the pendulum-
beats instructed us more than seemingly more important
things, — more than the place and form of our earth-ball ;
so that it would now appear that the anticipation of a
higher signification in the child's attraction to the clock
and pendulum-beat is an argument in favor of my per-
suasion. Yet )'ou allow this : the motion, the wheel-work,
the apparent life in the clock, the mechanism, especially
the concealment and mystery, is the attraction? It may
sometimes be so, I grant ; but it certainly is not all the
attraction, else why do children, as I have often observed,
like to make sun-dials in which no other motion is repre-
sented than the almost imperceptible one of the advancing
shadow? Allow me the opinion, the belief, the convic-
tion, that a deep, slumbering presentiment of the impor-
tance of time lies at the foundation of the child's liking
for the play representing the clock. This, my opinion as
an opinion, harms neither the child nor any one else ; but
it is serviceable in its application to the child and to every
one, for who does not know the importance of the em-
ployment of time for all the needs of life? I scarcely
know any thing which is more important for man, from his
earliest appearance on earth, than the holding and grasp-
ing of the right times. Does not the very life of the
child depend on it in the first moments of life? There-
fore it is highly essential to make use of the desire, I
might say the attraction, which the clock has for the child,
in oi-der to educate him to the right consideration, correct
( oiTiprehension, and best use of time. We. careful mother,
will employ this, like the little leg-plays, to develop care-
fiilncss about time in our dear child : so that later he may
understand you when he begs of you, " Show me this little
68
picture," and you say to him, " See what the little kitten
is doing.
So clean and smooth itself it makes,
That in our hearts it pleasure wakes.
It certainly knows that now the time for the visit of dear
friends approaches."
" Come to me, my dear child, that you may be made
clean and bright," says the mother, " for dear guests are
soon coming. Your father's dear eyes, which are so clear,
my child, must find you also pure ; and the beautiful little
flowers and the clean little doves are coming too.
To make himself one with such visitors sweet,
My child must be clean, my child must be neat.
But the dear child always has visitors : the clear rays of
the sun, the shining stars, and the bright moon, come to
him ; they also wish to see and caress him.
They wish the little child to meet,
Because he is so clean and sweet .
Else would the bright ones my little child shun ;
That to them, as to thee, would give pain, little one.
Therefore, my child, where'er thou mayst be.
Let purity never be absent from thee."
Just five little children are playing clock there. These
five little children are of course five little fingers who
would like to learn to know the time, so that they can do
every thing at the right time. " Come here, five little
fingers of my baby's hand, and learn from the five little
children in the picture."
MOWING GR.'^SS.
An Arm-Play.
Both your child's little hands (the fore-arms stretched
out horizontally, and a little raised with bent fingers,
the outer side turned up) rest in your hands, which are
held and bent in the same way, but whose outer side is
turned uniler ; both sets of arms move alike, making thus
a motion similar to that of mowing grass. This move-
ment especially cultivates the joints of the upper arm,
and improves the erectness of the child.
Nothing, mother, is more prejudicial to the well-being
and inner blessedness of your children, and especially to
the cultivation of their hearts, and the fostering of their
minds, than inability to consider objects which outwardly
appear separate and apart from them, as being also in-
wardly separate from the whole life-bond. You, careful
mother, may early guard your child from this by a childish
play like the foregoing one. " Mother, I am hungry." —
"Go to the kitchen, and let them give you some bread ;"
or, " There is a penny : go and buy a roll." So, indeed,
we must often in life say to the child. Only we shall not
always say so. Early, and as often as possible, we shall
make perceptible the succession of the conditions and
needs which must all be gone through and fulfilled ere
one can briefly say, " Go and let them give you this or
that bread," or something else.
This can be effected by the thoughtful selection, se-
quence, and grouping of beautiful pictures of country
and garden life, of trade and business life, and by tell-
ing short stories connecting real life with them, such as
you, mother, have certainly already attempted ; and we,
if you will permit it, will now do it again, looking through
this collection of pictures together.
It will be easy for you, guided by the song and draw-
ing, to teach your child, when it asks for an explanation of
the picture, that it must thank for its bread and milk,
not only its mother, Peter, the cow, Lizzie, and the baker,
but, above all, the Life-Giver and Preserver, the Father of
all beings ; through whose design, indeed, the earth (by
means of the influences of dew and rain, sunshine and
night, winter and summer) brings forth grass and herbs
for the nourishment of animals, and through them of
mankind. Your child will certainly understand you, and
all the more if you allow him to take a part, if only by
imitating (like the boy in the picture) what the grown-up
people do in order to preserve life ; and especially if you
by and by make him cultivate his own little garden, har-
vest the fruit when ripe, and thus lead him to reflect on
the influence of sun, dew, and rain, and of the eternal
laws of God which govern earth and nature. If it is just
as little possible now for the child to draw together the
links of its hfe-chain as it is for the children who sit in
the lower corners of the picture to link together their
chain of milk-giving flowers, yet he will just as little doubt
of its future success, as the diligent boy and the thought-
ful girl doubt that in their own progressive development
they will one day joyfully draw together the links of
their life-chain. '■ Be careful," says the tree on the left,
by which the boy sits (by its appearance to him and to all
those who are to be educated), "be careful that mean-
ness, baseness, falseness, and delusion do not spring
from the originally good stem : else there will grow from it
only a shrunken stick which will yield nothing but harsh
and unpalatable fruit." " Be careful," the tree on the
right, by which the little girl sits, by its form says to her
and to all growing-up children, " be careful that you do
not injure the top, the summit, the life-attraction, or, in-
deed, break the summit, the crown, from the life-tree of
your existence, by ignorance and thoughtlessness : else
your reward will be bushes, wood, and leaves, but not
blossoms, and still less fruit." And it is now clear to me,
mother, why both the children sit turned away from the
trees. May the important truths which they express to
the children never find an echo in their hearts from their
own experience ! Mother, mother, may you never have
to fear any thing evil for your chiklren, from that which
16D
is atlractive to them ! Wiih you, gliul l)oy, mowing with
strong arms, and wiili ycjii, at live girl, gayly Ibllowiug the
hay-cart, tliis is certain!)' not tlic case.
CALLING •fllL (■IIICKLNS.
The beckoning hand of tlic mother, and that of the
child, wiUi ills lovely bent lingers closely pressed together,
require no further directions ibr the outward explanation
of this child-i)lay. 'I'he strength and skill gained by this
moving of the lingers explains itself.
Hut tliis mother has surely heard that of which we
spoke, in respect to the foregoing drawing. Only look at
the little, healthy, strong child, whose eye never turns
away from the chickens which its mother's beckoning
and calling detains. The mother has certainly brought
jiini into the open air, that he may clearly perceive his
fresh, ruling, inner life mirrored in the outward, and so
feel it strongly in himself. Several groujjs of children
have followed the mother into the open air to share the
pleasure ; for who would not willingly follow such a child-
fosterer, especially what children would not do so ? But
see also the health, the gayety, and the thoughtfulness,
which abide in the faces and motions of all these children.
See the three on the right, the middle one of whom is
kneeling : how attractively the fresh life of nature acts as a
magnet upon them ! so strongly it attracts the sturdy boy
behind the two little girls, that he is not content to share
it with them alone : no, he turns round to beckon to the
three other children who appear so gay over there by the
tree ; but they seem to ha\e no desire to leave the view
which lies before them, and which attracts them too
powerfully. And here, to the left, how the child crouches
down, that he may not lose one of the manifestations of
life made by the chicken family. One little girl, impelled
by her awakening desire to cherish something, eagerly
V)eckons and calls to the cock and hens, lest they leave
behind any of their chickens. So each sees in the
mirror of nature his own inner life, and strengthens
this life through the perception; as the child descries its
life in the mirror of its mother's eyes, and growls strong
in this perception. And certainly all these children will
grow npu-ard as gayly as the hops which climb so fresh
and strong near the little girls ; and in the future they
will all stand as firmly as the tree uniler whose shadow the
little children now rejoice in the life of nature.
<ALLI\(; THE I^OVKS.
^^'llat the child often saw, while on the mother's arm or
la]), she willingly displays to i)lease him while sitting at
the table. The lingers of the mother, which then move,
tap])ing toward the child, re])resent the doves or birds
hopping toward him in the oi)en air: the child, attracted.
is induced to imitate the actions of the mother, and so
begins to exercise the finger-joints by moving forward his
fingers. So nmch for the exterior of this play.
Life attracts lii'e. An, in the preceding drawing, the
lil'e of nature attracts the children, so here the life of
nature, es[jecially the life of doves or birds, attracts the
joyous and cherishing life of the little ones. See how
familiarly the doves come to them, as if they under-
stood each other's language : from all sides the doves
flutter toward the children, as if they understood each
other, so much the more that the language of others is
incomprehensilile to them. And, O mother I is it not
frequendy so in yoiu- every-day life with your children ?
Did not }our children more frequently obey you when
they did not understand \our words, than now when the
meaning of the words is clear to them ? What and why
is this? Must we go to the animals for an explanation?
The word and the thing, the thing and the word, the
deed and the wonl, the word and the deed, are in their
lantruage one and the same.
THE LITTLE FISHES IN THE BROOK.
The chilli either sits on its mother's lap embraced by
her left arm, or sits before her on the table ; the mother's
hands are in a horizontal ]josition, and somewhat parallel ;
the fingers move independently of each other, now ex-
tended, now bent, in a motion imitating swimming: thus
the e.xterior of this little play lies open before you.
Little birds and little fishes are what the child's heart
most enjoys. Wherefore ? They both appear wholly in-
dependent, at least wholly unhindered, free, to move in
their surroundings ; and this has for the child an inex-
pressible value and attractiveness. Clearness and free-
dom, purity and unimpeded self-movement, — these are
the foundations of that enjoyment of life in which the
child feels itself so happy, in which it attains strength
and development. And yet the little child likes nothing
better than to catch the little bird or fish. Is not this a
contradiction? It does not appear so to me. In the
little bird, your child might like to appropriate, in inno-
cence and purity, the little bird's gay flying ; and, in the
little fish, its vigorous swimming ; and the free and happy
self-movement and self-destination of both. This it is,
mother, which causes your child so much pleasure in
catching little birds and little fishes. Yet the catching of
the external does not help, iiowever often it may be suc-
cessfiil. From the internal must the free existence be
won ; from the internal only will be attained by effort the
clearness and puritv in which it is such joy for the child
to move. If, mother, you try to bring this near to your
child, though at first only in the dimmest anticipation,
you lay forever the foundation of the inner peace and
the true joyousness of life for your children. Kinjjloy to
170
this end, mother, your child's early desire for the in-
nocent, the pure, — for joyful activity and gay move-
ment.
" Brother, catch for me, too, one of the fishes that swim
so strongly in the little brook : that one is now in one
.place, now in another, now crooked, now straight ; this
one is so lovely in all its movements. Ah ! if I could
swim so, turn and twist m)'self, bend and curve, come
forward so directly, run away so swil'tly, hide myself so
easily ! Then how I would tease you, little brother I
Brother, catch me a fish." — "Here is one, little sister;
but hold it fast lest it get away." — " But, brother, it does
not move about any more ; it only stretches itself out
straight : and yet it still lives, it still gasps. I will lay it
on the grass ; it will then certainly move again : but
there, too, it lies straight. Where is all its strong motion
gone ? "
" Do you not know then, sister, —
In the watery world alone
The little iish can find a home.
There it feels in its right place,
Swims about with ease and grace,
Uses all its strength aright :
Thus it lives, free, gay, and bright ;
Happy in its element
As it moves, now straight, now bent."
Straight and bent ! How important is the distinction be-
tween these to the whole life of your beloved little child !
"This is a straight (upright) man;" "a straightforward
management;" "a straight (upright) character;" "he
goes the straight (direct) way;" "he has a straight
thought, a straight (plain) word ; " who would not be
pleased with these words even, if as yet only a child ?
But whose happiness is not lessened by the following ex-
pressions? "He goes the crooked way ; " "do not get
around it so crookedly (not straightforward) ;" "I do
not like a crooked business." It is important for j-our
dear child early to learn to distinguish straight from
crooked. The design of the drawing shows that this
idea has also occurred to the artist. Straight and crooked
swim the fish, straight and crooked flows the water, straight
and crooked grows the tree, the snake crooks itself un-
comfortably about the straight, slender calla, — the bride-
flower. If you have early made permanent and percepti-
ble to your child the distinction between straight and
crooked, also that the crooked (dishonest) brings dis-
comfort and the straight (honest) comfort in art and life,
thought and speech, then will straightness (uprightness)
and all belonging to it be the expression of the child's
dealings ; and then will he move freely and gayly in the
right place for his working and creating, by the right use
of his versatile, developing strength, as the little fishes
move vigorously in the brook.
LENGTHWISE, CRO.SSWISE.
With this play we take a new and peculiar step. And
this play, be what it may, must take an essential place in
the order of the child's development : for I have repeat-
edly found it in the general fundamental form, among the
high and low in the different coiuitries and dialects of
Germany ; and it appears to me important to the whole
future life of the child, as it introduces him into the life
of knowledge and business.
The outside of the play is, mother, already known to
you. Your child stands or sits in some kind of a way
before you, holding now his left hand, now his right, hor-
izontally toward you : now you take the forefinger of his
other hand, or your own, and make therewith, on one of
his hands, two straight lines, which cross each other in a
right angle ; then, where they join, bore a pretended hole
with the middle finger, and, with the same finger used as
a hammer, seem to drive in a nail, and lay your hand flat
on it while you sing the song given already.
The motto seeks to give clearly the inner meaning of
the play, but permit me here to indicate it yet more
clearly in some respects. \Miy, then, is this play, as al-
ready said, in difterent ways so common ? I confess that I
see in it the child's first idea of position and form, which
makes it indispensable for him to pay proper attention to
the appearance of things. One line is the long line, the
other the cross line ; associated with each other, one ap-
pears vertical, the other horizontal ; they cut across each
other in the middle, thus uniting and connecting the op
posites, forming four siinilar and therefore right angles ;
but both lines with their four ends are in one plane, as is
shown by the hands, one lying underneath, the other
beating on it. " But I do not understand a word of that,"
you say : " how, then, shall my child understand any thing
of it?" You are right, mother: your child would not
understand a word of what has just been said, if it were
spoken to him ; but he must have some presentiment of
the thing, or the play would not please him : thus do you
not see, careful, thoughtful mother, that the knowledge
of things must be nearer to your child, lie deeper within
his mind, and be to him more primitive, natural, and profit-
able, than knowledge of words? If you desire, therefore,
to instruct him in natural and jirofitable ways, teach him
directly through seeing and doing things. " Why is this
way of training so permanent? " you ask. What the child
himself sees, makes a deep impression on his mind : he
seems already to have felt that three things are always
united, — what is special, what is common, and the
reference of both to himself.
Three things united here are shown.
Though yet unto the child unknown ;
But powerful inward thought they wake,
Proved by the care the child will take.
171
The three lead to a single aim ;
And, pleased, the cliild will seek the same,
And place the tilings before his eyes:
Aeeording to number, form, and si/e.
The artist seems to wish to make this plain to the
child : tiie three Tyrolean archers have the same aim in
view ; and the hearts of the three boys carrying the tar-
get are lilled with the same desire.
I'AT-A-CAKE.
This little play is a very connnon one, used in England
as well as in so many different coimtries in so many differ-
ent forms. The general dilTusion proves how the simple
motherly thought cannot at all help giving the natural
movement of the limbs in the exercise which they seek,
and at the same time a definite reference to life, and thus,
simultaneously with the first activity of the child, putting
him into tlie midst of life, and in combination with it.
This is clearly and definitely jiroved, and demands that
what till now has appeared accidental and dismembered
in the natural thought of llie mother and human being,
should be drawn forth from the inner individual thinking
mind, and the inner coherence lying at the foundation of,
and so important for, manhood and childhood, recog-
nized and conformed to in its higher signification, shall
be further developed by the thoughful, intellectual spirit.
For the spirit of manhood as a whole, and especially as it
expresses itself in so lifeful and childlike a manner in the
life of motherhood and childhood, must not remain dis-
agreeably isolated and continually dismembered, but shall,
as itself individual, develop into a childhood versatile,
clear, beautifully formed, and full of presentiments, and
into a conscious motherliness, the carefully laid founda-
tion of a human life, noble, strong, and rich in action
and virtue.
The outside of this little play is so well known and so
easy, that it requires but a few words with special refer-
ence to the double representation of the drawing. The
child sits or stands, as already described in the foregoing
play, before the nurse. She grasps his two little hands
so that their inner surfaces lie perpendicularly on one
another : then she begins the play, clapping them against
one another ; the holding of the arms, of the whole body,
and the movement of the upper arm-joints, are thereby
exercised and trained. I have already said that this little
play has resulted from the need of using the limbs which
the child feels, and from fostering his desire for activity,
thus placing him in the coherence of his outer life ; so
here the bread, the wheat-roll, above all. the cake, a
fa\orite food of children, which motherly love so will-
ingly furnishes them, must first lie bakefl. ere the child
can receive it from the loving mother's hand, and enjoy
it; and thcicforc llic biker mcdi.iles between the mother-
r
love and the longing of the cliild. This is all well and
good : it is a link of the great chain of the inner coher-
ence of life, but not the only one, and still less the last.
As often as there is an ojiijortunity, make this coherence
of life clear, profitable, peri:eptible, and apparent to your
child, even if he holds only the most essential links of this
great chain up to the last link of the whole, — (iod's
fatlier-love for all. The baker cannot bake if the miller
grinds no fiour for him ; the miller cannot grind the fiour
if the farmer brings him no grain ; the farmer can bring
no grain, if the fields l)ear for him no seed ; the field can
bear no seed if nature does not work to that end in inner
harmony .; nature could not work in inner harmony if
(lod had not placed in it powers and materials, and if
his love did not lead all to the desired results.
Each of the little children who plays at baking bread,
and eating it, has certainly been brought up with these
ideas. Do not disturb them in their thoughtful, sensible
play : rather pay no attention to it if you cannot enter
into the kindly spirit that lies at its foundation. This is
no degrading of the holy to the external life : no, this is to
give to the germ and also to the external the inner signi-
ficance and high consecration which are so needful ; for
how could your child be led now and through its whole
life to foster holiness in itself in buoyant innocence if you
would not permit it to be free in its innocent plays? But
such is possible only for innocence which has not been
dragged forth from the sanctity of the life of childhood by
officious eye and word.
BIRD'S NE.ST.
The outside of this little ])lay, the position of the hand
which you, thoughtful mother, exhibit first alone, and later
for the child's imitation to lead it on, is given clearly
enough in the drawing, so that it needs but one addition.
In the beginning of the play the two thumbs are so laid
together, that one sees only the lower joint of each, and
represent two eggs ; at the words, " hatches out two birds
in all," the thumb-tips are raised so that they resemble the
heads and necks of two little birds ; at the words, " pip,
pip, pip, hear the mother call," the two thumbs move
as if the birds were seeking their mother. Vou, mother,
thoughtfully considering the life of the child and its un-
folding, should trace this out step by step, and feel that,
deep and sure as the conditions of it lie in your child's
innermost nature, not so directly and instantaneously can
be awakened in the child the presentiment and percep-
tion of the inner and higher all-uniting coherence of life,
and still less the presentiment and perception of the eter-
nal one life-fountain, of the only good, God. This must
be done by slow degrees, and at first with feeble ste]5s
and tender hand : the way lies through the thoughtful,
spiritual, and tender ( onsidcratiDii of nature and of the
life of mankind, and through tlie fostering reception of
the inward life of the same into the mind of the child, as
exhibited in its own intellectual and imaginative life.
In this little play, you enter with genuine motherly
thought upon the first of these steps. You are led to
enter on this step by your feeling and presentiment that
your child feels within itself this inner coherence of
nature. In what can it foresee this coherence more full
of life, more active, and more formed ? In what is it
better shown and more perceptible than in a bird's nest,
— ■ a nest of young birds ? The time of nesting, the begin-
ning time when all nature unfolds, the spring, the beau-
tiful time of year, spring and summer, aid in the develop-
ment and strengthening of the young birds, supplying the
nourishment increasingly necessary to their development ;
and, when the rough autumn and frosty winter come, the
little birds have gained strength enough to seek their own
food, to endure the winter, or to fly away. The place of
the nest is evidently where the parent-birds find the most
food to supply their little ones, and to satisfy their hunger.
In the neighborhood of human dwellings there are many
insects, flies, gnats, and spiders ; at one of the houses is
the nest of the sparrow between the rafters, and at the
other house the nest of the swallovi' ; in the hedge, so
rich in insects, is the robin-redbreast's nest and that
of the hedge-sparrow. The nest of the titmouse is in
wormy, hollow trees, as the stork's nest is near the marsh
so full of frogs.
The peculiar form of each nest is as important as the
time and place of building : the finch's nest, between the
branches of the apple-tree, is scarcely to be distinguished
from its bark ; the nest of the titmouse resembles a bundle
of moss, by this appearance avoiding danger as much as
possible. But more than all, the necessitous condition,
and especially the tender and uncovered skin, of the
young animals, awaken the sympathy of the child : its
whole nature turns lovingly toward them, desiring to cher-
ish and protect them.
" Mother, mother, only see the nest-full of young birds
which these children have found. It is good they came,
for the little birds were all alone : the parents have cer-
tainly left them. I am sorry for the poor little creatures."
— " You are mistaken, dear : the mother is only gone
looking for grain, gnats, and small worms, for her children
to eat ; she will soon come back. And see the father up
there : he sits perfectly still on the branch of the tree.
See how steadily he watches to see that his little children
receive no harm from the little visitors. Only look up :
there sits the father steadily by the nest, like a careful
watcher, and the little mother comes gayly with food. But
while the mother flew away for food, and the father kept
watcli. the dear sun shone in the mean while so warmly
into the nest, and cherished the young birds like the
mother herself Only see how happy the little ones are ;
and the mother-bird, which you do not see by the othei
nest, and which the little birds do not see either, thinks
always of her children, and as she flies she says, —
" Ahl would a little gnat appear
With which to feed my children dear !
How gladly would I hie me home I
With what delight they'd see me come 1 "
" So, my child, if I also
Cannot always be with thee,
Like them you must not cry for me.
For dear you ever are to me :
Whate'er I do, I think of thee.
Alone thou never art; for, see
The light of the heavenly Father's dear sun,
Who never forsakes thee, my dear little one,
Presses everywhere toward thee.
And thou of this must mindful be :
A crying child, sun hates to see.
While thou art small, God gives thee strength to play :
Thy longing for it brings it day by day."
" O mother, darling mother, how dear thou art to me I
No lovelier thing on earth than mother-love can be."
THE FLOWER-BASKET.
The position of the hands is clearly shown by the
picture : the little finger of the right hand lies on the
forefinger of the left, the finger-tips of the right hand
rest in the angle between the thumb and forefinger of the
left, so that the palms of the hands form a hollow half-
globe, the tips of both thumbs meet on the outside. The
position of the hands may be reversed, but the thumb-
tips must in both cases be turned outwards. It is very
good for the training of the hands, and the skilful bend-
ing of them, which is the first aim, if the basket be rep-
I resented in the above double manner.
The inner significance of this play is, like that of the
preceding, to early lead the child to the loving care and
thoughtful cherishing of the versatile, perceptible, though
invisible, inner spiritual connections, especially of the
human connections in the child and family life.
" Why do the children gather with so much care and
solicitude the lovely flowers in that pretty basket? and
why does the mother cut off the beautiful lily ? " Do you
know what I think, my child ? To-da')' must certainl}' be
their dear father's birthday. Yes. it is. See, there the
father sits in the arbor in the garden on the hill. I can
plainly see he has a pencil in his hand, and is certainly
drawing a litUe picture for his dear little children, so that
his birthday may be for them, as well as for him, a day
of pleasure. Perhaps he is drawing the serene morning
landscape, and the still but yet beautiful rising sun, a type
of the beginning of his earlier life, as now of theirs. Sec.
child, the smallest sister seems to anticipate this : she caii-
1 not wait at all till the bigger basket is iieaped with flowers,.
17.-;
but trots olT to her father in the arlior with her little
basket. " Here, dear father," says she, " here are a few
flowers for your birthday : do you like them ? But mother,
sister, and brother will bring more soon whicli are beauti-
ful." — '■ My darling," says the father, " your little flowers
are beautiful, fresh, and pure : every thing will delight me
lo-day."
You see, my child, he means that the sun shines so
kindly, the sky so clear, tlic air so mild, the trees so green,
the little birds so happy, their songs so sweet, the flowery
meadow so dewy. Can you see it all out there, where the
fn.ther is looking, in the picture ? And can you see wliere
the old castle glitters up there, as if it spoke a friendly
good-day? That is what the dear father means : it is that
which makes every thing so pleasant to him to-day.
"But," says the father to the child, " all this would not
give me much pleasure, if I had not a dear little daugh-
ter, and if she had no sister, na little brother."
" And no dear, good mother : " that certainly the father
says also, mother. Oh, yes ! that he surely says ; for he
knows that the mother loves him and all the children
dearly.
"But do you know also, little daughter," says the
father again to the child, "whom I thank for all this joy?"
It is himself, thought the child, because father is so
good. But the father says, " He who has given me life ;
He who gave and gives life to all of us ; the All Life
Giver God, the Father of all : it is he whom I thank for
all the joy that will be mine to-day. When your mother,
sister, and brother come, we will all thank him together.
As all the birds their thanks to him>re singing,
As larks on vigorous wing are upward springing, ,
As to a prize the little swallows go.
And all the lovely little flowers blow,
As to him in the splendid morning-red
The plain with smiling dewy glass is spread,
As in exultant jul)ilee and song
Thanks rise to him to whom all thanks belong ;
So," says the father to the little daughter, " will we also
thank him."
Mother, when is my father's birthday?
To him will I bring, in my basket small,
Beautiful flowers, for he loves them all :
\Vell pleased \vill he be the flowers to see.
And forms of his goodness they seem to me.
THE DOVE-HOUSE.
A Play for the Exercise of the Arms, Hiiiuis, ami Fingers.
The position of the hands is clearly shown by the some-
what too masculine hand in the drawing. The left arm
in the jiicture (your left arm also as seen in the glass),
from its more vertical position, represents the post or
pillar : and the hands joined together, more rectangular
(one might say square) than round, represent the dove-
house which rests on it ; the forefingers of the right hand,
nnconfined, and freely moving, represent the door of the
dove-house opening and shutting, and, by various move-
ments, the doves also. For the equal cultivation of both
arms, the right may represent the post of the dove- house,
and the fingers of the left hand sometimes the doves, and
sometimes the door of the dove-house. This little play,
enacted before older children, as well as imitated by
them, gives them great pleasure : for the child already
longs at an early age to observe active life, especially the
life of nature ; he longs to move, more or less freely, in
the open air, at least to inhale full draughts of the fresh,
clear air as a means of strengthening and developing his
life. Mother, fosterer of childhood, provide air for your
child as much as you can : only do not stop there. Con-
sider that his spirit,- though as yet unconsciously, seeks
something lasting in that which appears and passes, — ■
seeks always in the external for the internal ; in the indi-
vidual, a deep-lying general ; in that which is single and
separate, for union ; finally, though as yet unconsciously,
he seeks in himself, as a human child, as a spark of the
one God, unity, harmony, — God. Therefore foster this
presentiment as much as you can, that it may be to the
child an. increasingly active, comprehensive, although as
yet unintelligible feeling ; that it may be an increasingly
lively perception in the child's mind. Mother, and you
who take the place of a inother, do not say that your
child is yet too young. Too young ! do you know when,
where, and how the spiritual developments of your child
begin? Do you know where, when, and how the limits
and the beginning of the not yet existing may be, and
how they always make themselves known? In God's
world, j.ust because it is God's wotid, created by God, is
expressed a constant, that is, undivided, continuous devel-
opment in all and through all. Keep this fostering always
in mind, that it may be true of you, that,
" Bearing it always in mind, you express it also in action."
The question is not the when, the time of fostering,
but, alas ! only too often the way and manner of doing
it. Your child will learn to step before it learns to walk ;
it will try to stand before it strives to advance ; it tries to
develop an/d to strengthen its legs, its whole body, before .
it willingly, eagerly, stands on its legs. If you make your
child stand and walk because it has legs, you make its
legs weak and crooked. See, mother, in the bodily de-
velopment the law of the spiritual is also expressed : if
you begin too late, your child will be awkward, deformed
in body and mind ; if you begin too early — alas ! do we
■ not meet too many men who in conse(iuence pass through
life with weak, crooked minds, like the children with
their weak, crooked legs? O mother, and you who take
a mother's place ! never forget this : instruct your little
174
child in the great coherence of Hie, anu in accordance
with its simple laws. In order not to forget it, commit to
memory these words : —
" Linkea together in one whole the parts of life must be :
The end and aim of child-life is blessed unity."
But we will not forget our dove-house, and the law of
life it so simply expresses.
This law appears also active in the mind of the mother
with the child on her arm, and also in the minds of all
represented in the picture. The fresh, healthy little child,
sitting so securely on its mother's arm, does not turn its
glance from the three doves below : it seems as if it woidd
like to catch and take them with its eyes. The boy seems
to stand before his mother as if chained to the spot : he
is looking at the titmouse which sits yonder on that cut-
off branch, with its face turned away from the hole into
which it would slip to join its young, but that it fears to
betray the nest and nestlings. The boy, in looking at it,
entirely forgets his apple, though his hands clasp it tightly.
" Stop, mother ! " he says in a tone scarcely audible, so as
not to frighten away the bird. " See there, on the cut-off
branch with the hole in it ! " The mother sympathizingly
checks her step, and looks also at the anxious little crea-
ture. The two little children who are turning homeward
must also, while out of doors, have remarked something
of life-importance to them ; for, as they walk along,
they seem absorbed in their communications.
" Now tell me, my dear son," says the mother on the
right to the child, " where have you been?"
" In the yard, in the garden, in the field, on the
meadow, to the fish-pond, to the brook."
" What beautiful things have my children seen there ? "
" The doves and chickens, the geese and ducks,
And swallows and sparrows, the larks and finches.
And wagtail and titmouse, and raven and magjjie,
The beetle and bumble-bee, the bug and butterfly."
" Where did you see the doves and chickens .' "
" In the yard, mother : they picked up the corn there,
and ate it. The chickens would run fast if they found
any thing, or if the cock, who had found something for
them, called them. But the doves could not run so fast,
nor the ravens which I saw in the field. A raven ran
almost like a dove, and a black dove ran so that I
thought it was a raven. But the ravens and magpies, the
wagtails and titimice, could hop : it is very funny to see
them hop about on their stiff legs. Ah, mother ! you must
go with me, that I may show them to you ; and the geese
and ducks too, as they swim on the water and dive under.
But only think ! they could fly too ; they flew right over
my head away to the fish-pond : how they frightened
me ! " — '• See, my child, the geese and ducks are birds
also, like the doves and chickens, the swallows and spar-
rows, the larks and finches : they are all birds."
" Mother, are the doves and hens birds too? " — " My
child, have they not feathers? have they not wings? have
they not, like all birds, two legs? — " " But the doves live
in the dove-house, and the hens do not fly." — " Only a
little ; but that is because they practise so litde, that they
have forgotten. What we do not wish to forget, we prac
tise. The sparrows and swallows are also birds, and the;.
also live in houses and under roofs." — " Then, mother,
are the bees and butterflies and bugs also birds ? They
have wings too, and can fly much higher than ,the ducks
and hens?" — "Do you not see that they have no
feathers? They build no nests, and they do not have a
great many things that birds have :■ they aft indeed ani-
mals as well as the birds and other creatures, for they
move as they will ; but they have also something which the
birds do not have. Look at that bug, at this fly : see, _
they have indentations here and there ; and these indenta-
tions are called notches, and the creatures themselves are
therefore called insects." (Translated literallv, " notched
animals.") " Mother, you must walk with me, and go ■
into the open air : there every thing is so much more
beautiful ! " — " Child, I cannot : I must make clothes
for you, cook something for you to eat, and keep every
thing in order. See how in free nature every thing is in
such fine order, each thing in its place : each does its
work so beautifully, so joyfully, that it seems to me as if I
heard the dear God, who made all things so beautiful, say
to ine, ' Wife and mother, in your little house also all
things must be in order, each thing in its right place, and
every one do their own work.' And many other things
he says to me : ' Each must also in liis own place do right.
Now your child may play about, that he may exercise his
strength like the little bird ; but later he must, like the
apple-tree, remain in one place, that he also may bear
healthy fruit.' See, my child, this is the reason wliy I
cannot go with you to play, and cannot go to walk with
you. I must stay in the house as the tree stays in its
place ; but notice every thing, and tell me about it when
you come home." — " Mother, I will go out again to-
morrow : then I will tell you about it again, and then
you can make me see and hear all the dear God says
about it."
Conclusion : Teaching and learning go through the
whole of man's life. The oldest teacher has yet some-
thing to learn, and the oldest educator must 'still permit
himself also to be instructed : he must learn especially
not only from men, but from all-tliat surrounds him. from
the animals themseh'es. So it happened to me with the
doves. A visit in mv childhood led me to the house of a
friend of doves : my chainber was in the neighborhood
of his dove-cote. I then heard how they often talk, in
the bird language, on their return t'> their home ; anc
from this came ray little dove song (ahc pigeon-hou-^el.
175
" And dost thoii not hear them telling there
The wonders they see in the open air ?
Rou-coo, rou-coo, rou-eoo."
it was a great pleasure to the child, that the little doves
told of their going-out, and also how joyfully they flew
about.
Mother, your true story, told at the right time, holds a
mirror belbrc your child in which he sees his own iiuier-
most.
THUMB-A-PLUM.
The coiniting of the fingers, and the position of the
hand in this game, are so well known as to require no
further words. The picture also clearly shows the posi-
tion of the hand ; but there are a {<j\v words to say about
the signification of this play.
The counting-plays that are known to me, which are
native in the life of the people, and of the children in the
family sitting-room and nursery, and which generally be-
gin. ••Thiis is the thumb," seemed to me partly too empty
and void, and partly saying many things which I would
not wish children to know. Yet the plays themselves
which involve counting appear to be important in many
ways, as I hope will be more clearly perceived from the
comparison of the management of them, and as explained
liv the motto. I wished at least to retain the well-known
popular words, certainly the first of them, and thus origi-
nated the first of these litde songs. This little play-song
should explain to the children by the fingers (except the
thinnb, which undoubtedly has its name from fo dam,
and which also represents a dam), the origin of the
names, — pointiiii^-fingcr, sometimes called beckoning-
finger, midd/f fingrr, ring or goid finger, and little finger.
I consider it very important to the awakening power of
comparison, and to the usually early consideration of the
agreement between word and deed, to call the attention
of the child, while yet quite young, to such connections as
closely surround it, thus shunning vacuity, and awakening
thoughtful reflection.
The artist has very properly given the feminine form to
the left hand, which is nearest the heart ; and the mascu-
line form to the right, the stronger hand. If I rightly
see and understantl it, he has still fiu'ther designed to
show the sense of higher agreement and peaceable work-
ing together, notwithstanding some external differences in
the family, and in other familiar forms of social life. And
this is also spoken of in the song, and represented in the
picture.
" What is the mother doing here, with her daughter on
her arm?" She is teaching her to know and to use the
fingers, with which she can do so much good when she
grows larger. See the two little girls below, who sew
and spin so diligently and carefiilly ; see the two children
yonder, who plant a flower in the garden ; see the l)oy
who vigorously climbs the tree in order to gather plums
for friendly gifts. "Mother, may I also cliinb a tree?"
— " Yes, when you are a strong gymnast."
THUMB, BEXD THEE.
The exterior of this little play is clearly explained by
the drawing of the two hands, and by the song, as is the
inner meaning by the motto, so that there remains but
little more to be said about it.
One grieves now, more than ever, over the improper
use children make of their limbs, thereby exciting their
sensuality, injuring their delicacy of feeling, and sullying
their purity of mind ; and, alas I alas I a merely super-
ficial consideration of childish actions, and of the bodily
and spiritual condition of the children, proves this lament
not to be unfounded, but, sadly enough, only too exten-
sively true. What is to be done to hinder, and if possi-
ble wholly to remove, this widely-spread evil, which, like
an insidious disease, poisons that which is noblest in the
child, and later in the man ? There is one means —
rejoice, ye friends of children and humanity ! — one fun-
damental means. This is, providing suitable, persistent
action and employment for the whole child, body and
soul, feelings and thoughts : first of all, by the cultivation
and use of their limbs, which promotes this, and the effort,
by this use, to remove all excitement of sensuality, and
all thoughUessness ; thus especially to enter upon that
which leads to inner consideration of what lies open
before you. To this suitable activity and employment
the plays of the limbs and senses here entered upon
must naturally conduct.
THE GRANDMOTHER AND MOTHER, DEAR AND
GOOD.
If any thing needs exact comprehension, the most
thoughtfiil consideration, and the most careful fostering,
it is human family-life, and all which resembles it in
nature. Family life ! family life in the three designated
points of view, how highly important thou art ! How
could I comjiress into this small space the description of
thy nature and its demands? Thou art the blessedness
of mankind ; thou art the holiest of the fosterings of the
di\ine. Family, family I let us candidly and openly de-
clare that thou art more than school and church, and
therefore art yet inore than all which necessity calls forth
as protection of what is right and proper. For where
thou, family, dost not bring the spirit of thoughtfulness
and modesty, of consideration and reflection, into the
S(-hools, they are, however perfectly they may be carried
on, empty as an unfruitful egg ; which, indeed, contains
70
outward material food, but from which no new, free life
ever is developed. Wliat, witiiout thee, are altar and
church, when thou dost not give them consecration, and
raise soul, heart, mind and spirit, idea and thought, deed
and life, — all to the altar and temple of the one living
God, penetrating all their declarations, and furthering their
demands? What are offensive and defensive institutions
for truth and right ? Tliose whose family was not hallowed
to them defy these institutions. Therefore, mother, teach
your child early, by the simplest finger-play, to anticipate
the nature of a whole, above all, of the family whole ; and
you will then have given it the securest foundation for its
life as a whole. Where wholeness is, is life ; at least, the
germ of life. Where there is separation, though it may
be only incompleteness, is death ; at least, the germ of
death.
The relation of grandfather, grandmother, father, mother,
and child (in reference to the first grandchild) is re-
markable, and well worth consideration, especially by the
family. In the relation of its parents to its grandparents,
the child sees itself as in a mirror ; for the same relation
which it, as a child, bears to its parents, they, in turn,
bear to its grandparents. The parents, on the other
hand, see themselves in relation to the child as they see
its grandparents in relation to themselves. This manifold
double relation, expressing itself iiere in the number five,
is certainly highly important to the life and development
of the child. The artist certainly had in view this im-
portance, and the foreshadowing of the same in the
family, as he portrayed to us many times a life-whole in
live parts, which is again brought out in the flowers. In
reference to the latter, an idea appears to have flashed on
the artist as worthy of consideration : that the especial
relish of the kernel and stone fruits lies in the prevailing
law of the number five, as all the trees of this kind, and
all the plants belonging to the same family, are character-
ized by the number five in their blossoms.
TO THE THUMB, SAY I, ONE.
I lay the thumb in a natural position by the forefinger,
with the nail somewhat raised, while I count and name
each finger in succession : I lay the finger named on the
palm of the hand, yet so that the joints of neither shall
advance beyond the tip of the thumb (as the drawing
shows). The fist now represents a beautiful whole : and
the child, in accordance with the song, thinks that in
each finger it sees a little child, and in each finger-nail
the face of a child ; so thinking, the artist has drawn the
hand, or rather the children represented by it, who lie
asleep.
Rest, sleep, is the expression of the entire picture.
The poppy-flowers sleep, as do also the five birds in
the tree ; yet what life lies slumbering in that deep re-
pose ! So much important signification hes slumbering
in the counting and numbers. What would a poem be
without number, measure, and counting ; that is, without
the feeling of measuring and counting necessary to the
writing of poetry? What would be the finest music, the
most sublime oratorio, without numbers, and without the
correct counting of the time ? How much the mistake
of a day, of an hour, will injure your whole life : the loss
will never again be retrieved, or only partially, and certain-
ly with some sacrifice, if it be but a trifling one. The
child seems also to be conscious of this ; for who does
not know how it likes to count in its plays as it grows
older? We must therefore, at an early age, seek to give
the significance of time to its desire for counting, which
we must try to find again in the number and form of
natural objects.
FINGER-PIANO.
The fingers of the left hand of the child's nurse, or
rather yours, dear mother, or, later, those of your dar-
ling, must lie like piano-keys horizontally, so that the
knuckles may form almost a right angle, and the fingers
receive a certain strength. The fingers of the right hand
press them down as the keys are pressed in playing on
the piano.
What was brought out in the preceding play is also
important in this one, ■ — the necessity of impressing on the
child's mind the importance and significance of the count-
ing in singing, and as a measurer of plurality, of height
and depth ; now as controlling the time ; and again as
controlling the law of motion ; and, above all, the articu-
lation of motion, which is called time. But you already
know how important to life is the knowledge of the laws
of motion, as well as the regularity of motion : he who
understands the latter in all its departments is called a
timist, an exact, fine timist. Would you like now, careful
mother, to omit in the early fostering of your child any
thmg which might cultivate an exact and fine idea of
time, and which might make him in the future an excellent
timist? Cultivate early the power of singing, and you
will thereby awaken in, and provide for, your child a
precious treasure. A German educator blames the Ger-
mans, especially in comparison with the Italians, for not
cultivating the powers of the ear, and still more for not
cultivating the organs of singing. But of yet higher im-
portance is the cultivation of the inner tone and song, in
which the inner ear perceives harmonious accord when
the outer ear hears nothing, by which it perceives the
symmetry of that which the outward eye sees only as con-
fusion. How important is it early to plant the germ of
both inner and outward harmony in every child : for earthly
existence cannot be long enough to develop our life in
177
all its manifold aspects ; yet we mny in a certain measure
do so, when we contemplate and admire in othi;rs what
in their circumstances we might have realized in our-
selves. No man can manifest all diversities of gifts in
himself; but all men, each unfolding some of them, and
appreciating, recognizing himself in others, shall exhibit
them as an liarmonious whole. It takes the whole race of
mankind, loving each otlier, to make the image of God in
its fulness.
Shall I now add a word about the lovely little picture ?
You, thoughtful mother, certainly will make your darling
hear all the sweetness it sees in the picture : the whole
picture, indeed, is nothing but music. What object is
there which does not express a tone of the melody ? The
ears of corn and the stalks join their voices in a low song,
to which the iarks nestling among them listen : the fra-
grance of the bind-weed is sweeter to the bee, and its
tremulous wings hum with joy. The many-colored bird,
up in the leafy green tree, has seated himself directly
above the fountain and stream of tone, so that not a single
wave, however soft, may escape him ; the goldfinch flut-
ters and warbles at times in his cage, as loudly as if he
said, " Recognize also m the smallest the great Creator's
might." And how sweet sounds the gentle playing of the
two little sisters ! they are Ijoth absorbed in the harmony
of their own song. That is what I call music. The art-
ist could not have represented it more finely. The two
litde birds above the boy have also perched as near as
possible, that they may be able to listen easily ; but the
old music-master directly over the boy's head cannot for-
bear chirping the melody in a low tone (do you not hear
him ?), making the law of beauty jierceptible by the motion
of his wings ; the very cockchafer forsakes the leaf it was
gnawing, to approach nearer to the musician. The colors
sav, " We also express ourselves ; " and where is there a
form which, listening to sounds, glows not in colors? The
ears and blades of corn are painted with gold ; the lark
is earth-colored, so that he who would waylay the singer
of the ether may not find him in the protecting furrow ;
the faithful field convolvulus is blue ; the homely bee is
brown ; but, above all, the cheeks of the lovely children
are rosy, the hair of the laughing boy is brown, and flaxen
the hair of the litUe girl. All are enclosed in the ethereal
• blue from which the foliage sucks its blue into the yellow
sunlight, that green, the color of hope, may adorn the
earth. The cockchafer hums, " Oh, ye colors I could ye
forget me, with my palette-like back?" and in variegated
medley, as if mixed on the color-board, the colors fly away
on his broad wings.
BROTHERS AND SISTERS SAFE FROM HARM.
The position of the hands in this little child's play is
quite simple, and is fully represented by the drawing in
the picture : it only remains to remark that the interclasp-
ing of the fingers should be slow and gradual, in harmony
with the purport and progress of the song.
The most delicate, and at the same time the most im-
portant and difficult, part of the nurture of the child, is
certainly the nurture of the innermost and highest life, — of
its feelings, its intellect, and its anticipations, — from which,
at a later period, germinate and develop all that is highest
and holiest in human life, and at last the religious life, —
the life of the mind, thought, and action, in union with
God. When and where does it begin ? we ask ourselves.
It is with this as with seeds and the germs of jilants :
they exist long before they are outwardly perceptible. As-
tronomy informs us that it is the same with the stars : they
shine for a long time in the sky before their rays reach
our eyes.
Thus we know not when and where this religious devel-
opment, this union with God, begins in the child. If we
begin to foster it too soon, it is as with a grain of corn
which we expose too early and too severely to the devel-
oping sun and the nourishing dampness : both injure the
delicate germ. If we begin too late and too feebly, we
meet with similar results. What is, then, to be done?
How does the inner religious life show itself outwardly? or
with what outward phenomena do we connect the inner
existence of the religious life? with what outward phe-
nomena, indeed, do we connect the awakening, the de-
velopment, its highest outward expression ? Do we not
connect this expression with the laying or folding together
of the hands? But what has this laying together, this
folding of the hands, to do with our inner religious life?
How can such an accidental outside thing be necessarily
connected with the inner, yes, even with the innermost
and deepest things in man? There must necessarily be a
connection ; and, if so, there must be something in com-
mon with the folding of the hands, and the most internal
condition of the mind, soul, and spirit. But what can
they have in common ? Is it not collectiveness, unity ?
The folding and laying together of the hands is there-
fore by no iTieans accidental : no, it is rather the expan-
sive, physical expression of inward collectiveness, deeply
grounded in the unity of human nature. This can be
further proved in deeper ways, upon which we will not
enter now : suffice it to say. that the folding together of
the hands is no accidental expression of the deep and
innermost religious unity of life and mind.
Thus we have now a definite expression for the out-
ward phenomenon of the innermost life-collectiveness (to
which stage of strength and cultivation the child has not
yet reached), and for this reason also an outside point ol
union for the fostering, yes, even for the further arousing
of the same ; for who has not remarked how the darling
little angel children like to lay their little hands together,
yes, fold them, and always when they wish to express the
178
coUectiveness of their inner life? The tender fostering
of this coUectiveness of the inner life cannot work preju-
dicially ; for all strengthening, as well as all development,
promotes the inner life-coUectiveness. The song, with its
motto, links itself with this sense of unity ; for it is natu-
ral that you, noble mother, who foster and hold sacred
in yourself the coUectiveness of the soul, should make it
your duty to foster it also in your child. We have already
shown that the little fingers must be viewed as little chil-
dren, indeed, as little sisters ; and also that the children
prefer to view their own life, their innermost spirit-life, in
the mirror of another person's life so far as it is to their
profit, but by no means to their injury.
THE CHILDREN ON THE STEEPLE.
As has been already told by the motto, this is a collec-
tion of all the hand and finger plays, beginning with Pat-
a-cake, in which the hands and fingers are joined and
held, only that at first they are held apart, and clapped
together at the words " and when they meet." All further
positions of the hand can easily be imagined from this
little song and the foregoing ones. The position of the
fingers, as the grandmothers go into the church, is shown
by the drawing on the left ; how they all praise and thank
God, is shown by the drawing on the right ; and the
bending and folding position of the hands is shown by
the preceding drawings.
The four judiciously placed pictures explain themselves
as easily as you could explain them to your questioning
children. Below, to the left, the fingers represent the
visit of the children, the two grandmothers at their head.
In the second picture below, to the right, the children tell
each other of the little basket, the little nest, the egg, the
dove-house, the cup, the ball; the Uvo little grandmothers
sit together above, and enjoy the friendly play of the chil-
dren. The third picture shows the two grandmothers
going into the church, and the children mounted on the
steeple. The fourth picture above on the right shows the
steeple fallen through, and the saved ones thankfully com-
ing out. Each further consideration and employment of
the whole for fostering the life of your child lies so close
to you, thoughtful mother, in union with the foregoing,
that any further explanation would be undervaluing your
powers.
THE CHILD AND THE MOON.
There is almost nothing to say about this picture : what
mother or nurse does not know of the strong inclination
that the child has to gaze at the moon, often forgetting its
little troubles at the sight? So, in later life, do our minds
aspire to the higher light and to the life that abides in
and flows from it, often thus forgetting all our temporal
sorrows. This little song should aid you, thoughtful nurse,
early to consider and foster, in conformity to the needs
of the child, inclinations so marked and full of significance.
BOY EIGHTEEN MONTHS OLD, AND THE MOON.
The song gives a simple account of an actual fact in
the history of a child of the above-mentioned age. The
motto might explain the higher symbolical idea of this
phenomenon which so often recurs in child-life, especially
in boy-life. It presses upon us the perception that we
should, much more than we do, foster the children's con-
templation of the moon and of the starry heavens, and
their pleasure in it, and not let it, through our want of
sympathy, sink into vagueness and vacuity of gaze ; but
we should make use of it to arouse in them an accurate
perception and comprehension of the moon and the
starry heavens (for example, the globular form of the
moon. so often clearly visible, and likewise its swimming
in the ether) ; and partly to make them early feel the
nature of their Creator, perceptible to the children, and
readable by them at an age when they like to perceive, in
the outer phenomenon, the inner uniting life, as the next
representation will definitely express.
The child takes up with equal readiness a true or a
false explanation given by a grown-up person, of the ob-
jects whose nature it cannot yet grasp, and accepts the
one or the other with equal facility when both appeal to
its perception of things. It will certainly make no differ-
ence to the child at first, whether one points out to it, and
teaches it to know the moon as a man, or as a beautiful,
shining, swimming ball ; whether the stars are shown to it
as golden specks, or burning lights, or as bright glancing
suns which appear so small because they are so far off.
While the first representation of their apparent life is a
dead one, the last bears in itself the groundwork of a liv-
ing development leading to an inner, well-founded insight
into itself. Why should not one make the latter accessi-
ble to the child, and not wholly inaccessible? Truth
never does harm : error always does, even if it eventu-
ally leads to truth.
THE LITTLE GIRL SCARCELY TWO YEARS OLD,
AND THE .STARS.
Perhaps this exhibition and little song are nearly the
same as the previous one, only here referring to a little
girl and two stars. The two stars, generally so brilliant in
the evening and night, were planets close together in the
sky. Who does not know the child's impulse, yes, its
need, to see human relations in all things? But the
thoughtfulness of the child's expression was the more re-
markable, that no one could explain how she could have
arrived at this connection of ideas, and comparison of
appearances. But it is certain, that it is strengthening to
[70
the cliild's soul and life, to foster this impulse, as long and
as gradually as possible, thus strenglheniug and develop-
ing what the motto makes promineut, — that " one Spirit
lives and works in all."
THK LIC.IIT-BIRI) ON THE \VAL1„
As man is in himself an inward whole, linked together
yet undivided, the child necessarily liecomes conscious of
the unity of life before lie comes to the consideration of
])arts. And it is also highly important to the inner and
outer development of the child, during its whole life, that
it be firm in the i)erce|)tioii and contemplation of the one-
ness and wholeness of life ; that these be felt as living
truths before he descends to the consideration and foster-
ing of speciality and iiidi\ idualily. The activities of the
limbs and of the senses ap|)ear and are different in their
function ; and therefore each, esi)ecially in the fust devel-
oi)ment, re-acts on the other. No limb-play, no move-
ment of the legs even, has been yet considered which has
not likewise brought forward the sense of sight : indeed,
we must remark, in the boy's desire to reach the moon,
how the stirring of the sense of sight re-acts on the activ-
ity in the chikl's body and limbs; and again, simultane-
ously with the stirring of the sense of sight, the child
demanils that of hearing ; and you see how every thing
acts dilferently on your beloved child when accompanied
by word and tone ; and true to your motherly instinct,
directly, without reflection, antl without the child's ques-
tioning even by a glance, you join words with every thing
you do for the child, and invest these words with peculiar
and ap])roi)riate accents. Hut here again also the percep-
tion of word and tone, anil the awakening, development,
and cultivation of the sense of hearing, appear to go
through the mediation of the sense of sight. Indeed, this
primitive singleness and disconnection of the senses
makes itself apparent to you, mother, in the fact that the
cliild carries directly to its mouth every thing it feels in its
hands, or sees ; but very soon the sense of sight takes
precedence, as examiner and regulator, of this as well as
of all other perceptions of the senses. By the sense of
sight, the soul lies open before you : wherefore you say,
" Through your clear eyes, my child, I look into your soul."
We si)cak of a soulful eye, as in another, higher, and
more spiritual sense, of a healthy eye, as what is most
im[)ortant to the life of the child. So we demand the
employment of this sense, first of all : " Ah ! child, take
care;" "Look around you, my child ; " and we lament
wiien this sense of sight is nnemi)loyed : "You neither
look nor listen, my child." In these expressions you rec-
ognize the im|)ortance of the sense of sight to the inner
and outer well-being of the child ; as well as how truly
this sense is the centre of the development of the child's
soul, as also the fountain and starting-point of the culti-
vation of its mind and life.
Thus, dear mother, have we by opposite roads arrived
witli understanding and clearness at the central and start-
ing point of all the fostering which we shall bestow u[)ou
your beloved child by the help of these plays and songs;
the untroubled development, the undisturbed employment
of all the activity of its soul as a harmonious being, with-
out wounding the unity and singleness of its nature,
witliout disturbing the healthfulness of its life, without
cooling the warmth of its feelings. On the contrary, we
hold fast to this warmth of health and lite through repeti-
tion of impre-ssions : we will make your dear child sec in
tlie complete and highest meaning of the word, both see
and feel ; for the seeing, the collective and consequently
complete sight which sees lovingly, is the highest attribute
of existence, and belongs to God, the one foreseeing and
overseeing Love. Perhaps, trusting in me, you may desire
to follow yet farther tiie path on which we have already
entered, with ever clearer eyes, with deeper, wider in-
sight, and especially with fuller soul ; for this is the path
wliich we would take from this time as the one great,
simple road to the fostering of childhood, to the fostering
and employment of its vital inclinations, to the cultivation
of its desire for employment.
Let us now turn to the play itself. I have found it in
all stages of cultivation in social life, in village and in city ;
and have known it from childhood to be (jlayed in the
bosom of my own family, and often have amused my
younger sisters with it.
Jiy means of sunlight reflected from the flat surfoce of
a mirror, we may throw upon a shadetl wall a flash of
light ; or the surface of water in a glass or cup may pro-
duce the same effect of a moving light : children call it
a light-bird.
The song and motto explain to you the higher meaning
of this play ; yet this is certainly not the only meaning
that can be found in it, as is the case also with the preced-
ing and following play, song, and motto. Yet this song
and motto are not, any more than the explanation, given
to you as the only thought, though perhaps it is the best
which can be felt, apprehended, expressed, and aroused
in the child, by this play : they are given to you only as
an example and a guide of the way to hold fast, to com-
bine, and to awaken in the chikl what you yourself per-
ceive in the play, what it makes you feel, and what it
expresses to you.
" Mother, what is it the boy has in his hand ? " — " It
is a little looking-glass." — "What does he want to do
with it? " — " To catch the sunshine." — " For what? " —
"To make an image of light appear on the wall opposite
to him, to please his little brother." — " Oh, yes ! I see it :
it looks like a little bird." — " Yes : it seems so to his
little brother too, and he wants to catch it as if it were a
bird." — " Mother, give me your little looking-glass. 1
will make one too." — " Here is a cup of water which
loU
will do as well, but you must not break it." — " Look,
mother, I can do it too." — "Why should you not?" —
"Mother, if you will make it, I will catch the bird." —
"Yes, do so if you can." — "Ah, mother! the bird will
not let itself be caught at all ; for wiien I think I have
it under my hand, it shines on the top of my hand."
■ — " Yes, the bird is only a bright appearance, and you
cannot catch it. Every thing cannot be caught." —
" Mother, you cannot catch me either : run after me, and
try." — " Ah ! there I have my dear little one again : you
must be quick as light."
Only see the maiden bright,
Holding a long paper tight:
She draws it up so high, so high,
Kitty follows with her eye.
She longs to reach it; but to gain
The prize with such short legs is vain.
"O mother! what are those children in the picture
doing?" — "They want to catch butterflies — the two
little girls with their net, this one with her hand, and that
one, who is kneeling, with her handkerchief. But the
butterflies have flown away." — "What is the little girl
doing there by the wall? She stands so still 1 " — "Do
you not see how she stretches up? She would like to
help the children over there, but cannot get over the wall,
though she stretches as high as she can." — " Mother, the
little boy can get over the wall, and so could I ; but why
does he not climb wholly over? " — " Do you not see how
he is looking at his brother, who is trying to catch the
little swallow up there under the eaves ? But it has flown
away, so that he cannot see it any more." — ^" There are
two more little children ; but they sit and stand so still,
that they will certainly neither catch nor try to catch any
thing." — ".And yet, my child, they might hold something
fast. Guess what." — " Indeed, I do not know." —
" Yonder, over those two lakes, the sun is going down so
clearly : they can hold his golden rays fast for a long
time : can they not, my son ? " — " What are you thinking
of, mother? The sun is so far away behind the hills, by
the lake, and his rays are nothing but an appearance."
— " .And yet the children hold them fast." — " No,
mother, that is impossible." — "Yes, my child, by their
eyes, in their hearts. Do you not remember your father's
affectionate looks and loving eyes, as he said good-by to
you the last time he was obliged to go away? and have
you not spoken to me about it lately, and thus seen him
again, as you asked, ' Is not my dear father coming back
soon? ' " — " Oh, yes, mother ! I can always see my dear
father." — " Don't you see, then, that you can see and
hold first your dear father when he is not here ? " — " Oh,
yes, indeed ! I can do that, mother, because I am a
spirit."
THE RABBIT OX THE WALL.
This play, as a gymnastic exercise of the sense of sight
in children, is universally known. As the ardst has given
so full a representation of it, it is unnecessary to say any
thing about it. It can be played in the evening, by arti-
ficial light, as well as by the favorable rays of the sun, at
morning and evening. It is also well known that this
little play, because of the great variety of the motions
and positions of the skilful players, is a favorite with
children, who feel themselves grown up when they cm
do it themselves.
It is my firm conviction, dear mother, that in all those
things which afford the child an ever-new delight, tiicre
lies the symbol of truth, profitable for all children, f jr tne
budding race, and so for all mankind ; and that in c'.iil-
dren, who are innocent and cheerful, may be developed
the purest joy of life, — the joy of clear minds, thoughtful
hearts, and genuine souls, leading them into tb; true
spiritual life, co-operation and communion witi the
Creator.
What makes the rabbit appear on the wall ?
Between the clear, bright light, and the flat whi-e M'all
on which it shines, a dark object is thrust ; and tht: glad-
dening image appears as a shadow, in a definite fo.in.
Such is the outward appearance ; and what meanings does
the growing mind find in it? Is this not one? — The
dark, often obscure, forms of life and earth, when looked
upon liy the light of the governing Spirit of God. appear
to the quiet, clear mind, as images of the higher life. So
a craggy, rocky, terrific country appears very beautiful
if sufiiciently illuminated by the rays of the sun ; and the
finest landscape is void of any expression of life, yes,
even repulsive, if its fine points are not brought out by
the sunlight. Circumstances, which, when shone upon
yesterday by a higher spiritual state of mind, appeared
highly pleasing, are to-day, when that ray no longer
shines, not only void and dead, but also repulsive and
oppressive. .And, on the contrary, will not many a thing
which seemed at first cold and void delight us when a
higher frame of mind shows them to us in a finer light ?
The clear insight and conviction that it is only the dispo-
sition of our minds and souls which makes outer relations
seem so gloomy and even repulsive, can thus restore to
us the lost joys of our hearts. This thought and the
following play will give the inducement and power to lead
on your child by means of the working of the inner as
well as of the outer life, — of the light of the mind and
soul as well as that of the sun. In the bright sunshine
the dark image shows clearly as a limited thing.
This play gives children still greater pleasure when two
persons, with hands of different sizes, — a mother ami
daughter, for instance, — show two rabbits of different
sizes and in different positions.
181
The pi(:t\ircs explain themselves (even that of the two
rabbits who seek shelter in the depths of the woods) ;
and your thoughtful explanations, mother, will throw yet
more light upon them, so we will not add another written
worti.
WOLF AND WILD BOAR.
The picture, song, and motto explain themselves so
clearly that little need be added. The representation on
the wall is made by laying the hands flat, one upon the
other, finger to finger, and then opening and shutting the
hands, the thumbs being so ])laced as to make a shadow-
picture of the ears. By repeated attempts you will attain
to a perfect representation. In the picture the hands are
too widely open : therefore the shadow-picture is not
exact.
You must carefully consider what the motto points
out, especially when looking at the animals with chil-
dren ; for animals often show (as is, alas ! the case with
many human beings) their lower nature so impetuously
and conspicuously, that the impressions made on the
rlelicate minds are too strong. It is very important to
keep the fancy pure, and not wound the modesty, espe-
cially if the child is nervous and imaginative. Even if
it be not so, be careful not to rouse misconception by
an incautious word ; then, guarding its own purity, the
innocent child will pass over the phenomena of nature
scathless, explaining them easily by the obvious truth,
" Animals know no better." Neither the man nor child
is a mere animal, therefore should know what he does, —
the man should know it, at least, and the child should
know it ; therefore, mother, and you, loving nurse, make
this fact noticeable to the child confided to your care,
that every animal develops faithful to its nature, and acts
in consonance with the collected life of nature, as we
have already explained by the bird's nest ; and just for
this reason is the life of the animal, as well as that of
flowers and plants, so healthy, fresh, and joyous. As the
animal, in its stage of development, quietly, carefully,
and simply fulfils its vocation, its destiny, which cannot
be altered, so shall also the man, through his higher stages
of development, faithfully fiilfil his vocation, his destiny,
undisturbed, beginning in childhood. It is certainly im-
portant early to make intelligible, or at least perceptible,
to the child, that each step of development, and conse-
(juently its own, has demands destined to be met, and
which cannot be avoided, in order to prejiare it for the
fiilfilment of the many-sitkd duties which its future will
bring.
Every age, without exception, has its own cares and
duties, the age of childhood not excepted ; and hap])y is
he who has fulfilled his duties, whether consciously or
unconsciously. Duties are not burdens. Duty fulfilled
leads finally to the light, and to all its lofty gifts. There-
fore every healthy child will fiiltil its duties willingly and
gladly if they are explained to it cleady, simply, and,
above all, decidedly. 'I'he fulfilment of duty strengthens
body and mind ; and the consciousness of achievement
gives a sense of independence, which the child enjoys.
See, mother ! see, nurse ! see, parents ! how haj^py your
children are in the feeling that their little duties are per-
formed ! It makes them feel themselves like you, which
brings a happy self-respect. Blessing rests on those who
faithfully study and cherish the versatile nature of child-
hood.
THE TWO WINDOW.S.
The position of the hands for both representations is
clearly shown in the [lictures ; and, in respect to the
play, who does not know how well children like to look
at the light through a limited space, through the fingers
stretched open and laid upon one another, through a
hole cut in paper, and through plaited slats? Does the
pleasure this gives the child intimate that property of
the human mind which renders it unable to absorb more
than a certain limited amount of the higher spiritual
light, in order not to be dazzled with the inner vision,
so as to be unable to define and reproduce it ?
It is well known that this play can be carried on both
by sunlight and candle-light.
In reference to the cultivation of the soul, mind, and
spirit, this p'ay differs from the two last mentioned, for
in them the object was to avoid awakening the low and
common. The aim of this is to nourish and arouse the
sense of the high and noble ; and, as you have fostered
your child's joy in the pure and clear, good mother, so
now foster its pleasure in what is bright, light, shining.
Only see how the children's whole souls are absorbed
in the phenomena of the beloved light ; and what could
more profitably enchain the child's spirit and mind than
the perception and also the inspiration of light? Your
child seems to have a presentiment of this.
" Be of a pure heart. The highest step is taken when
the wiser carry into action what the wise have devised."
For this effort, mother, nurture his strength. Father,
lend him your hand, your arm, that he may early in life
attain the heights of purity and nobleness.
" Why does the boy stand thoughtfully there in the
window?" He sees how the bright sunlight, shining
through the clear water, plays in such diversity of lovely
colors. " Mother, fither, come here quickly. Sister
has set a glass of clear water in the window in the sun-
light. Only see the beautifiil colored circle and rays, —
just like the rainbow and the dewdrop. Ah, dear
mother, tliat is so beautifiil ! Only see how the colors
])lay now with one another as sister moves the glass,
just as you play ' catch ' with us, dear mother." In
like manner is the noble, generous, striving man de-
182
lighted when he sees the highest happiness blossom from
his care of the purity of his child's mind, spirit, and life.
Help the youth, motlier, to keep undefiled
The innocent pleasures he loved as a child.
" But why is the boy up there, crying? " .Ah ! he has
thoughtlessly broken the clear, pure window-pane ; and
now he must go a long way to the glazier's shop to have
the damage repaired, so that a dark board or an opaque
paper may not keep out the clear, bright light from his
room. See, my child, you must not in like manner,
through levity and carelessness, prevent the light from
penetrating into heart and spirit ; for it will cost you
trouble and loss of time to dispel darkness and obscurity
in heart and spirit. But if, like the mother's dear child
on the right hand, you open at the right time both door
and window to the light of truth, it will penetrate into
the gloomy abyss of life, shining on all things therein
and brightening them, as sunshine does here into the
gloomy cellar.
With throbbing heart, clear eyes,
In wide expansiveness,
Nature before thee lies
In all her gloriousness.
See the two children on the mother's lap in this pic-
ture, and in that one in her arms. How satisfied they
are, — tired with gazing upon the rising sun ! "Come,"
says the little boy to his other little sister, " come, let us
ask mother if we may go out into the garden a little
while."
Yes, dear children, you may go :
Out there the lovely flowers blow.
Be fair like them, and, like the light.
Keep your spirits pure and bright.
THE CHARCO.^L-BURNERS' HUT.
The drawing shows clearly the position of the hands.
They rest with the wrists on some object ; for example,
the table, which represents the ground. As we have
before perceived and explained that the eye is prevail-
ingly and predominantly a means of communication
between the inner world of man and the higher spirit-
world, so is the hand especially the means of communi-
cation between the mind and the surrounding world of
tangible objects, and also the actual instrument by which
the spiritual thought is embodied to tjie eye in later life ;
and to be prepared tor this the hand is employed in the
narrow circle of childish games.
Man has but two hands, opposite to each other ; only
two times four fingers, and only two thumlis, also opposite
^A> each other, which seem to hold the fingers in check :
but what endless varieties of things they can do, besides
ihe innumerable games they can play for the child's
pleasure and awakening ! Do they not teach the child
how much he can accomplish with the few things within
his grasp, without overstepping the limits of his own life,
and stretching beyond it for material? That English-
man is perfectly right who wrote a whole book to prove
that man's hand is sufficient evidence of the parental
kindness, love, and goodness of God to mankind ; for
the small and near teach them to consider how to form
much out of the little. And is not this an expression
of the divinity of man? Does it not show his likeness
to his Creator, who creates so much from the nearest
and smallest? This respect for his hand (as also at a
later time for his foot), this thoughtful contemplation
of his hand and of what can be done with it, you,
mother, should early arouse in your child, that it may
never harm itself and its hand by misuse of it ; but,
rather, try to resemble, in its acts, its Creator, its Father,
— God. .And as you, tnother, make your child thus re-
spect its own hand, make it also respect and honor not
only Kim who with his hand brings us bread, and who
supplies the nourishment and needs of the body, but
also the handiwork of active men, however humble the
task may be, by which they not only ward off harm and
danger from individuals, as well as from the whole race,
but often even promote the direct good of mankind.
Where, for example, would we stand in regard to the
practice of most of our technical arts, — where would
we stand in the investigation of nature in regard to
chemistry, and all thereto appertaining, —
If, with soot and coal on face and hair,
The collier burn not the coal with care?
Beneath the collier's blackened breast, and shirt so soiled with
coal,
Right, innocence, and virtue make their home within his soul.
THE CARPENTER.
The positions of the hands in this game are difficult to
describe, and can only be made plain by seeing them ;
yet we will attempt the description. The laying of the
hands is, on the whole, like that in " the collier ; " only
they are held freely before you. The tips of the little
fingers, the ring-fingers, and the middle fingers, gently
meet ; the forefingers are free. The forefinger of the
left hand represents a tree, and that of the right the car-
penter as he with a sawing movement fells the tree : the
left forefinger (the tree felled by the sawing of the right
forefinger) now lies horizontally, so that its tip touches
the knuckle of the right forefinger. Then the bent fore-
finger of the right hand, with a chopping movement,
represents the carpenter chopping u).) the tree, and then
again sawing it into i)ieces (the joints of the finger) .
The drawing shows clearly the position of the hands and
fingers to represent the house ; and we distinctly see the
183
gable, the wimKnv, and the liouse-door, only the door is
too small.
As with the child, a clean, pure body, tlie regular and
thorough rultivation of the limbs and senses, and the right
use of them, and suitable and clean clothes, already con-
tribute much to the ease of their domestic duties, and of
the joyous, homelike family life ; so does also the symme-
try and orderly arrangement of the house. What the
skin is to the whole body, the house is, in a certain iwint
of view, to the whole family, arranging, jjrotectin;;, and
surrounding it. The happy family life dejjends as much
on a well-regulated house as on the health of its inmates,
but especially if a homelike, considerate family feeling is
also connected w-ith it. A presentiment that houses and
rooms are the fostering and sheltering places of the
highest human .social life, of the family life, is ]ierhaps
the reason why children like so much to build houses and
rooms. Mo.st certainly the later earnest and significant
life of manhood passes in a continuous series of presenti-
ments through the breast of the child, of the youth, who,
alas ! can just as little explain the gloomy feelings and
strivings which are fostered and brought out from their
external surroundings. How different it would be with
childhood, with youth, and generally with manhood, in all
the relations of life, were each presentiment early fos-
tered, strengthened, and developed in the child, and
its higher significance brought as a protecting angel to
the consideration and i)erception of youth !
In this anticipation and in the feeling that grows out of
it, — that man, for the attainment of so great a blessing as
peacefiil, fostering family life and a friendly sheltering
dwelling, has much to sacrifice, much to endure, — the
boy there on the right appears to have let his sisters saw
him apart, like the tree ; and the two lovely sisters on the
left sit, thoughtful and reflective, by the house they have
just built.
What, indeed, do the little heads think? what do the
young hearts feel ?
How charming it must be
In a bright, clean house to dwell !
What pure, glad thought we see
Stream out, the tale to tell,
Of the active life we live,
And holy meaning to it givel
The mother below, on the left, seems to try already to
make clear tu the child that —
To the carpentei's true art
We must give the honor due;
And when he docs well his part
We must him consider too ;
For, if he did not a safe dwelling give.
Where should tliL- mother with her darling live?
THE BRIDGE.
This is easily represented. The two thumbs simulate
the two piers, or joists, of the bridge ; the fingers lie just
above, the ti|) of one of the iniddle fingers resting, a little
bent, imder the other, so that the fingers lie upon each
other. To unite opposites that are apparently separated,
as the two shores of the brook appear to the child to lie,
is always a beneficent, pleasing act, and is well worthy of
thanks. Mother, in TOur instinct of motherliness, let
your child early feel this ; for truly no one feels more
deeply than you, that, on the one hand, unadjusted con-
trasts bring the deepest pain to the heart and mind, espe-
cially in the family life, as, on the other hand, unexpected
agreeinents often bring to heart and mind the ])eace of
heaven. And what unites greater contrasts, what better
unites the greatest contrasts, earth and lieaven, than the
family life? and where does a hapijy solution cause more
happiness than in the home? Teach your child, there-
fore, to recognize in the outward appearance of the gift
the inward thought which is to be reached through it, in
the house ; the homelike peace, the tliiiughtful family
life; teach it to recognize in the (Jiver of the outward
and perceptible, the Giver of the imperceptible, the in-
ward ; teach him to tliank Him who sent tlie carpenter's
son on earth, thereby equalizing in the dwellings of men
the greatest and most difficult contrasts of life, making
these dwellings the abiding-place of the heart's joy as
well as of the soul's peace, heavenly dwellings. Teach
your child something from the representation of the
bridge ; let him discover, at least in anticipation, how to
find in independent action the mediation and agreement
of opposites. Show this to him in your own life and
actions ; impress it upon him especially in the mediating
life and example, in the mediating teaching, of the car-
penter's son : then will the \isil)le bridge made by your
hands or Ijy those of your child, and all connected with
it, become later a means by which you may unite for him
the invisible with the visible, and teach him to recognize
and love in the carpenter's son the beloved Son of the
Father of us all, and the Mediator between himself and
(;od.
THE TWO G.\TES.
The position of the hands is more correctly <lelineated
for the garden-gate than for the farmyard-gate, although
in both the hands should be brought nearer together to
resemble a gate.
The sense and character of these little plays are easily
expressed : that of the first is to teach the rhild to keep
what it has ; that of the second, to make the child recog-
nize the objects that surround him. and to try to name
them ; to make him name first what surroimds liim in
the house and yard, in the garden anil field ; then, later.
184
in the plain and wood. Teach him to know objects, not
only by their names, but also by their qualities ; teach
him to know not only their active qualities, their actions,
but also their passive qualities, their nature. Mother,
have you considered what a deep active sense of this lies
in your child ? At a certain time of its life he appears to
find for himself in a marvellous way the words for activity
and nature. How much at this time the child likes to
notice the smooth, the woolly, the hairy, the bright, the
round, &c., as well as the rolling, the creeping, the hop-
ping, &c. ; and with what wonderful ease it grasps and
unites perception, word, and idea ! Preserve, foster this
sense in the child. If this sense is not fostered, if it is
not trained to work rightly, it is lost, it rusts out, as a
magnet rusts out and loses its strength because not suf-
ficiently and increasingly used. This sense resembles
costly wine in a broken glass : that which is not imme-
diately enjoyed, strength which is not at once employed,
effort which the corresponding object does not imme-
diately receive, is lost forever.
You, mother, are certainly acquainted with flowers
growing in pairs, as in the hedge-honeysuckle, and with
others like flocks of sheep, as in the elderberry and snow-
ball.
How much the child learns from the flowers every day I
The colors, the tender, the sober, the gay ;
The forms, as the bell-like, the star-shaped, the round :
Like knights they are spurred, with circles enwound.
In nosegays and bunches they sometimes are bound.
For all these how soon the right words will be found,
If help shall be given by eyes which are sound 1
Therefore courage, good mother, and use the swift hours
To cherish and strengthen the child's feeble powers.
The seeds are now sown : may there spring thence a tree.
That shall blossom in blessings for thy children and thee !
THE LITTLE GARDENER.
Fold your fingers (the fingers of the left hand) into
the form of a flower, that of a lily- bud, for example ;
close the fingers of the right hand in the form of a
watering-pot, so that the thumb looks like a spout ; ap-
pear to water with it the flower-bud, which, while this
is done, appears to unfold itself, the fingers gradually
opening to simulate a just-opening flower.
You can scarcely do it once for your dear child ere it
will imitate your action. The little play will give great
pleasure, as the child generally likes to imitate whatever
the mother's love prompts her to do. This faculty of
imitation in your children should be very carefully fos-
tered by you, dear mothers : it will relieve you from
more than half the task of their education, effecting now,
with feather -hghtness, what later a hundred- weighted
word from you to them can scarcely accomplish. Be-
lieve that I am right, before you learn it through painful
experience ; for insight thus hardly gained causes you to
nourish nothing but your dejection.
But we must not forget our little gardener; for th(
sight of a little boy or girl gardening, or of several chil
dren playing garden, is much too lovely to lose.
"Tend," "foster," dearest mother, are words which,
in the course of our reciprocal communications, in oui
common care, and sharing the life of our children, we
have said to each other times without number. These
words are most important to the life of our darlings.
And, say, with what can we endow our children, — the
heart of our hearts, — more important for their whole
life, than with just thought, perseverance, courage ; yes,
courage to foster life, also giving the means to show the
way thereto? Mother, father, we should repeat these
words to ourselves. We have done so hitherto. In
your old age you may be taken care of by your grateful
children, as the boy in the picture takes as good care as
he can of the old man who is a total stranger to him.
But to foster rightly, we must consider time and place ;
for it does not suit all plants to be watered directly at the
root. The lilies, at least, when so watered, soon decay.
I believe truly that the little girl-gardener, who stands
there so thoughtfully, will say to us, " Consider the place
in which you plant." x-\nd even the weathercock on the
far-distant hill, moved so easily to and fro by the wind,
says to us, " Consider the time."
In the blaze of the hot sun
No watering should be done.
The leaves exhausted stand;
No strength can they command
To take in what we give,
And thus in health to live.
But in conclusion, dear parents, let us consider one
thing more : —
In what do the children find greater joy,
With what more gladly their leisure employ,
Than in the lovely garden near.
To water, foster, tend, and rear ?
Of the refuse twigs a house they make,
Of the doll in its cradle good care they take ;
They water the flowers so that freely they bloom,
And give out for such tendance their sweetest perfume;
Even thorny stems sweet fruit shall bear,
Rewarding the gardener well for his care.
What shall we parents learn from this?
Learn, like young children, no joy to miss;
Learn, by the quiet deeds they do.
How we may share this pleasure too.
Building our house in the garden fair,
There tending our children in thoughtful care.
Keeping them safe from all bodily harm,
Safe from all dangers that might alarm;
But chiefly with care unfolding well
The strength that from God doth in them dwell.
In fatherly love this boon he hath given.
That so, by their work, he may raise them to heavca
185
THE WIIEKLWRIOIIT.
The hands, placed per])endicularly and partially closed,
move horizont;illy as if in half-circles, so that one hand is
above and below die other alternately : this siunilates the
motion of the wheelwright's arm and hand in boring a
hole. Thezi at the words, " And now it goes always
around, around," the two fists move perpendicularly
round and round one anotlier like a moving wheel.
" Nothing should be indifferent to you that concerns
humanity : you are a human being, therefore nothing that
happens to human beings should remain unknown to
you," said the world-wise man. The child practises this
great truth, for it often happens
Tint llic child in quiet simplicity lives
Tlie truths wliich the wise man as life's wisdom gives.
Nothing hap])ens to grown-up people which does not
attract the child's attention : he is especially attracted by
handwork. We have already said how important the
work of man's hand is : we must cherish this thought
from the beginning. Cherish the child's desire for the
creations of man's hands.
You must early this desire turn to act and deed,
That a manly, active life the child may one day lead ;
For, working thus right zealously with manly strength and mind.
The aim he seeks he will attain, and peace and jov will find.
And, if you would to your dear child secure this peace and joy,
It easy is: to vigorous act, and honest, train your boy.
And this play of the wheelwright contributes a little to
this good purpose.
The artist has richly illustrated this page for the pleas-
ure of your child. I believe that no real use of the
wheel, no peculiar kind of wheel, will be missed, irom the
wheel on the barrow by the side of the bales to the wagon
for carrying the goods on the right of the picture, wheels
on tiie chariots of the gods at tlie top. He certainly
shows us the importance of the wheel to all the ends of
life. Where would mankind stand in civilization, but for
the wheel? Most certainly every thing in the shape of a
wheel is very attractive to children, who later learn so
much from considering the quality, use, and turning of
wheels ; the difficult motion being produced by a slight
momentimi, so different from the reluctant manner in
which the child follows the advice of one older than him-
self, because he does not yet (as he does in the case of
the wheel) recognize directly and at a glance its power
and its importance.
Thus in a transferred, symbolical sense, perceptible to a
wholly spiritual state and condition, the quality and use
of the wheel is as important to the child as the qualities
of the circle, the ring, or the wreath. The artist cer-
tainly desires to te.ach this ; and for this reason the two
!joys are driving their hoops in opposite directions, and it
almost seems to me that the hoops go on to the end in
an upright position, and contrary to expectation. Does
the artist mean by this to explain the various destinies of
the child, of the man, which guide each to that which is
best according to higher decrees?
What more does the artist wish to say, that he intro-
duces us again to the fabulous ages of the old heroes?
No artist ever docs any thing accidentally or without
thought. It would almost seem that he, as an artist,
anticipates that through such a childhood, in which nature
and life are faithfully considered in all their varieties, and
the good in them carefully preserved, the heroic age of
noble manhood must re-appear, cleansed from its dross,
cleared of its gloom, purified in its impulses and aims.
But to return to the prosaic present, the wheelwright
here below on the right who drives the wheel, —
What does he teach the children all ?
To keep themselves secure from fall.
THE JOINER.
The fists used in representing this play stand perpen-
dicularly, and glide first in short, then in long courses,
over a level surface (for instance, that of the table), like
the plane which lifts up the shavings.
What is the point of view for the vital significance,
the inner sense, of this simple play? As tone is in union
with number and movement, and the child has been
already led to it by the finger-piano, so tone besides being
in inner union with number, time, space, and movement,
is so also with the quiescent form, and intimately united
with material. If the material be stretched out to a
great length, the tone is deep ; if the material be short
and fine-drawn, it is high. The conception of the con-
trast and connection of long and short in regard to space
and time (for both can be short as well as long) is of
the greatest importance to the life of children. " You
can stay out of doors for a while, but not too long."
'■ You must exercise, but only for a short time." Lead
your child, dear mother, to the many-sided perception of
long and short, to the various significations of the two
ideas. This song and play will give you an opportunity
for this, and also for the perception and significance of
long and short for the later life of your little darlings, as
an earlier picture and play has done for the perception
and significance of straight and crooked. In the picture
of the earlier play we found everywhere the representa-
tion of crooked and straight, and in this picture we find
the representation of long and short. Let the child seek
out for its own pleasure the resemblances and contrasts in
the two (jicturcs. The picture will also lead your child
to the idea that outw;ard size does not always presuppose
inner greatness, and th-c 7'crsu. This idea will also lie
suggested by the story of the giant (joliath and the dear
180
little David with whom the children always have so much
sympathy.
If we will keep pure the youthful feelings in our chil-
dren, and through them in ourselves, — •
We must cherish peace and holiness,
Then will surely come our blessedness.
THE KNIGHTS AND THE GOOD CHILD.
While your child rests on your lap, and your left hand
softly embraces him, let the fingers of your right hand,
from the little finger to the thumb, march one after the
other to and from the child during the continuance of
the song, thus representing the trampling of the horses
and their riders.
With this and the following play we take a step for-
ward in forming the mind, character, and will of our
children. All which has liitherto been done has seemed
to them casual and incidental. What is now done is
done with clearer perception, and therefore with greater
precision.
Knights with their spontaneity, noble independence,
and determined power, early chain the attention of boys
and girls, and appear to them perfect, magical, ideal
beauty. The sentiments they inspire, and the ideas they
convey to children, are therefore unequalled, and valua-
ble for explaining something important to them. The
play and song also add their word, and take the first
steps toward the aim to which they incite the child.
Yet the motto warns us, mother, to be careful about
this. The sense of distinctions has begun in the child,
by comparing and pondering. At this stage he too easily
confounds that which he may become with what he is,
and so believes that he already is what he may yet be-
come. Yes, we ourselves and others help him to this error
by thinking that the child as yet understands nothing
about it, and because, in our love, we do not distinguish
what the child really is from the feeble, germinating, and
at first embryonic qualities in the little one, which we
already love ; and thus, by our own demeanor, we bring
the child to suppose himself to be in reality that which
he may become in the future, and in this way we do
harm to ourselves as well as to the child. Let us, for
the happiness of both, endeavor to understand this.
I'he child may, indeed, through the good-will, love
and care, and good opinion of others, be roused to per-
ceive goodness as an object of pursuit ; but it is impor-
tant that he should pursue it in social union with his
parents, and in such a way that he may feel that he can-
not be loved by anybody else except so far as he is
really good. Thus, as attention to the opinions of others
awakens in the child, as he compares the opinions about
himself, separating and considering them, all who influence
children have really a twofold thing to consider : firstly
you must, in your demeanor toward him, clearly distin-
guish what the child primarily is, from that wiiich he
will and can become ; secondly, you must also clearly
and definitely distinguish the outward appearance and
personality from the inner germs and foundation, the
ideas and aims, so that he may not obtain and be con-
firmed in a false opinion of his little self. In the correct
comprehension or non-comprehension of these state-
ments, and in the thoughtful observance of them, lies
the turning-point of the child's aspirations toward inner
existence or outward appearance. And so, mother, you
see that you have already in your power, at least the
feeding and fostering of these aspirations by the first
caressing baby-plays ; for the current of the child's later
life is now but a little stream which your hand can turn
at pleasure ; but later, when it has become a river, no
outside power can determine its course.
But there is sometliing else which awakens early in
your child, — a respect for goodness, and a feeling of
emulation and aspiration to attain to goodness ; that is
to say, to be good. These feelings are aroused in the
child, not so much by the respect and acknowledgment
which you show to goodness in the abstract, but much
more by the respect and acknowledgment which you
show to the goodness of others around you. Every
sign of respect shown to others, which appears to the
child just and merited, and above all attainable by effort,
spurs him on by awakening a generous emulation.
" Now, mother, we will listen to the song
Sung by the knights, so gallant, gay, and strong."
" Come, children, quickly come, and hear
The song we sing of the baby dear."
On the mother's lap at rest.
Like the rose in mossy nest,
We have found a child so good.
Joyous, soft, and mild of mood.
Why is this little child so strong.'
Because, with hand and arm so long,
He learns by what he builds at length
Thoughtfully to use its strength.
If somuthing fall upon the ground,
Delighted will the child be found
To stoop, and raise it up aloft.
Are angels his companions oft .'
His mother's love an angel is.
She on his red cheek lays a kiss ;
His forehead, too, by kisses blesses;
Then comes a rain of soft caresses
From baby to his mother dear.
And kiss and word his thanks make clear.
As, " Mother, take me, mother, here ;
How much I love you, mother dear I "
Now goes he with a run, a spring.
And seeks the distant near to bring;
Back to his mother now he goes.
That on her lap he may repose ;
Sinks down upon her tender breast,
Happy, caressing, and caressed ;
187
Far from danger, far from harm,
Safe encircled by her arm.
Very tired his little feet,
Hut now he lies in slumber sweet,
The little eyes close wearily,
The mother sings on cheerily.
Now lies he in his crib at last,
And holds the little bar quite fast;
With this he dearly loves to play.
With it is happy every day.
Now mother bends in blessing over,
With the light (piilt the child to cover.
He laughs in sleep, and then she knows
That angels watch o'er his repose.
Him smiling in his sleep she leaves,
For angels fan him, she believes.
" Sleeji, my child : I am tired too ;
Sleep tomes to bless both mother and you."
THE KXIGIITS AND THE CROSS CHH.D.
The exterior of this play is like that of the preceding.
One often seeks by play to drive away the combative-
ness, ill-humor, and surliness of young children, which
is so apt to cause crying and noise ; but often as this is
done it seldom succeeds. There is something of truth,
however, at the foundation of this attempt. The inquie-
tude and combativeness, the ill-humor and surliness of
the child, are frequently caused, if not l)y liodily indis-
position, by too determined, one-sided action of the
mind ; and he is not able to help it, or break away from
such fetters by his own strength. Thoughtful care and
tending must then come to the aid of the poor child, to
change his mood. This is best done when his eye can be
quickly diverted by something different and unexpected,
the appearance of which will enc liain his attention. But
it is not the sight of the new thing which stops the tears
and roaring, — indeed, that often only increases the evil,
— but it is tlie unexpectedness, the suddenness, and,
above all, tlie impressiveness of the sight. So I have
seen very irritable children, who would not allow them-
selves to be pacified at all, liecome calm and peaceful
when unexpectedly shown the moon in the evening,
especially if carried into another room. I have seen the
same effect produced in the day-time by the unexpected
sight of active life, — for instance, the chickens. Also
the unexpected turning-away of a thing can effect like
results. This little play and song will unite both, for it
begins again with the knights who have before caught the
child's attention by their appearance and words.
Motto and song easily explain themselves, as they show
clearly the spirit of the play.
The conclusion of the former explanation finds here
also its a])plication.
Hn)IXG FROM THE KXIGHTS.
The representation of this little play is identical with
the former, as to the use of the hand and fingers.
The first thing, mother, for you and your child to learn,
is the many diflerent ways in which you can hide the
child, or it can hide itself, or at least mean to do so.
The inner spirit of this play is the same as that of the
preceding, in that it enters into the inner, human, and
soul union of the child with othc. people, developing and
fostering this union : it enters yet more deeply into the
cliihl's inner life by defining his heart and soul union with
his mother more sensibly and perceptibly. It is highly
important to the child and his soul-union with his mother,
that the perception and feeling of this union should, if
possible, go through the same medium (as here through
that of the knights) ; else might the bond between the
mother and child becoine merely a physical, not moral,
and intellectual relation, and something troublesome and
evil might grow out of it, which must be avoided.
But one idea offers itself to us in this place, which we
cannot, with justice to our reputation as educator pass
over, although it has been touched upon and explained
more than once in the foregoing play-songs. It concerns
your relation within and to yourself, and especially your
innermost relation to your dear child ; that is, your view
of its nature, its life, its inclinations. What you care for
or slight, what you value or despise, you make use of
according as you care for and value it, and thus cherish
it. How you show yourself in yourself, in your family, to
all that is yours, especially to your children, even though
they be yet so small that you might suppose they woula
understand nothing, is in the liighest degree important tc?
\'our child as an active, imperceptible means of educa-
tion and cultivation. You are your child, the child is
you. Mother, parents are one with each other and with
their children, as is often shown to you by your child.
Think what is contained in these words. Let not your
thought be confined to feeling, but extend it to knowl-
edge and assured action ; for feeling, if misunderstood,
may be carried beyond bounds, and then, instead of
being beneficial, it will work harm to your child and to
you.
" Mother, why did the knights want to have your
child ? "
" Because he is a dear, good child, the knights would
have liked to have him ; but I, your mother, also love
him dearly for the same reason, and would not give him
to the knights : I did not even show him to them ; for
I dearly love and highly prize thee, baby bright;
And in this good gift of God I take pleasure and delight;
And if thou wilt remain dear and pure and good.
If thou wilt keep thy heart in gay, courageous mood.
Then the band forever will remain fast wound
That has our loving hearts in loving union bound;
And if the knights should come, and want my baby dear,
I'll sav, " Oh, no, indeed I my darling I keep here I "
"Mother, I'll be good, and I will stay by thee.
If thou wilt only love and be always good to me."
188
HIDE-AND-SEEK.
Who does not know, as we have said before, the ever
new and inexhaustible delight it gives to your beloved
child and to his scarcely older sister, for him to hide on
your breast or neck, under your mantle and kerchief, or
la your lap? On account of this inexhaustible, never-
changing inclination, on account of this exuberance of
childhood (as we have already said on another occasion),
this hiding must be highly important for the education
and development of the child.
But this natural and original union of the child with
the heart, life, and action of the mother can be misunder-
stood, and carried beyond the right limits, and do harm to
you, mother, as well as to your dear child. This we have
recognized in the former play ; but if the union when
misunderstood does harm, how much more must the
separation, through misconception, misunderstanding, and
want of clearness ! And mother, so it really is. For this
reason, you give by the hiding play which your child so
much enjoys (and without in the least anticipating it) the
first motive for this separation ; and it is well for you that
you do give it : only you also know and feel quite sensi-
bly in fostering your little child, and it is also familiar to
you through your hiding play, that all giving is connected
with receiving, and starts from receiving ; therefore recog-
nize also, and make clear to yourself, that you, in moth-
erly love and yearning, give the motive for the separation.
Your child will hide himself, and thus separate himself
from you : he will learn to like to hide and separate him-
self from you, so that, for a long time at least, you could
not see him nor find him at all. Here begins the danger.
Take care that your child does not find so much pleasure
in his separation from you as to hide himself from you
more and more, lest in the end he should like to hide him-
self so that you should neither see nor find him at all. Be
careful, mother, that your child in his further development
does not hide from you his affairs as well as his person ;
be careful that to the pure desire for play in hiding him-
self from you, no action is joined accidentally, unex-
pectedly, and unpremeditatedly, which the child might
desire to keep concealed from you. Here is the germ
of a danger which we have already intimated : we will
not linger too long in the consideration of this danger,
but will clearly express ourselves about it. The danger
lies in the possibihty that the child, when older, will
conceal from you his actions, and himself as revealed in
his actions ; especially when he must fear that you, if
they became known to you, would not ow\\' justly punish,
but even unjustly censure. I will not further point out
the ugly development of evasion and twisting of the
truth of matters of fact into actual untruths and lying,
in order not to agonize your motherly heart ; but rather
reply at once to your question, " How can I avoid all
ttiese evil results of the harmless play which harmonizes
so completely with the joyous, fresh, serene unfolding of
my little child ? " Only pay attention to the idea of the
play and to the child's way of playing it, and you will
very easily find the means, and in a no less lovely form
than that of the play itself. Only observe his whole
nature when he hides himself. Deep as he hides and
muffles himself, yet all his care is that he should find you
again, and you him. Only see the joy that lights up his
eyes when he has found you again ; but why does he
ever hide himself? He might rest always unhidden in
your arms, in your lap, or on )-our breast, where he could
see you, and you could see him all the time. Does he
hide himself thus in order to conceal himself from you.
and remain separated ? God forbid ! he hides himself on
account of the feeling which springs up of tlie joy of
being inwardly united with you, and of becoming thor-
oughly conscious of this inner union ; he hides himself
for the sake of the ever- recurring joy of re-union. See,
mother, in projwrtion as your child finds pleasure in
hiding longer and farther from you, awakens in him the
feeling, amounting to consciousness, of being inwardly
united to you, and is enhanced. His desire and pleasure
in again finding you, in again seeing you, of being again
found and seen by )"0u, must be fostered, O mother ! in
order to meet the above-named danger. From the very
point whence danger threatens, O thoughtful, pure, de-
vout mother, faithfully devoted to God ! comes the helj)
as everywhere in God's world, and instead of sorrow
springs up joy. It is the enhancing of the inner union in
proportion to the increasing and widening outward sepa-
ration, which unties the knot of the apparently fatal difii-
culty, and gives place to holiness and harmony, jjeace
and joy.
The aim, the goal, is union sweet :
We separate, onlv again to meet.
Learn, mother, to apply this law so true :
Child-tending then will heaven's joy bring to you.
THE CUCKOO.
"But wherefore now the cuckoo-play?" says perhaps
somebody who only considers in an outward way the play
which to the children is full of deep thought and signifi-
cance. " Why do you give us the cuckoo-play? is this,
then, any thing different from the hiding-play, except that
we say ' Cuckoo ' ? " Indeed it is wholly different from
that, though inwardly related to it : it is an advance upon,
a progressive development of, the hiding-play; as in the
series of children's plays the cuckoo-play follows close
upon the play of hide-and-seek. But what is the dif
ference between them, and what the nature of the furthe/
development? If you will only pay sufficient attention
to your children's play, thoughtful mother, you wiU easily
ISO
find llie difference. In the first, separation and \inion
ajjjicar more distinct, as if to make tlie child become
more and more clearly conscious of both ; in the last,
both are, as it were, mingled by the cuckoo-call. Tt is
imion in separation, and seiiaralion in union, which
is contained in the cuckoo-play, which is so indivitlual,
and in its individuality so ilear to the chilii. 'llie feel-
ing and consciousness of union in separation, and of
personal separation in union, is the deep-lying ground-
work of conscience. And thus the call of conscience
comes already to the child in the present cuckoo-call.
Indeed, healthiness and blessing, peace and gladness,
are assured to the child to whom through its whole life
the quiet call of conscience is the presentiment of that
union of soul and spirit, which is communion with the
Highest, never again to be separated in feeling and con-
sciousness. Then, as in the picture above the head
of the mother, as if to unite her and the two playing
children in the higher light, rises the sun of life, clear
and bright, never again to go down.
" Is there any tiling, mother, I ccrt.iinly knew ? "
"Just list to thy heart; what it tells thee is true :
It teaches that goodness will inward joy bring;
Consider the thoughts that from inward joy spring,
They tell thee how dear to thy parents thou art;
That God is thy Father, and lives in thy heart.
Then cherish within thee this knowledge so pure.
That love, truth, and thanks may forever endure."
" O mother, dear mother, I see that so clear !
Thy love for thy child never fails, mother dear."
THE MERCHANT AND MAIDEM. — THE MERCHANT
AND P.OV.
The position of the hands in this little play is not very
difficult, and is besides generally known : it is also pretty
well shown by the drawing in the picture. Three fingers
of each hand, the tips of which touch, represent the mer-
chant's shop, or stall ; the little finger of the left hand
remains tree, and represents the merchant standing in his
shop, or stall ; the forefinger of the other hand, closely
laid on the lower joint of the left forefinger, represents the
counter ; the two thumbs represent two purchasers stand-
ing before the booth or before the counter. In the first
picture the mother and the little girl, in the second the
father and the little boy, are represented by the thimibs.
In the drawing the two forefingers lie one above another ;
but this is not necessary, one finger being sutficient.
The outward life has its laws, even the market. When
the child and the man have clearly found themselves, and
in themselves these laws, then can they also enter with glad-
ness into the market of life, and can bring himdreds and
htmdreds of things, not only into relation to themselves,
but also into relation to the nature and needs of mankind,
not only into external but pre-emiiieiitl\- into internal rela-
tions ; and so find and observe life in the various jiroducts
and needs of mankind as in a mirror ; and can select
and apiJropriate, as far as possible according to the result
of this refieirtion, not only what is outwardly usefiil, but
also what is inwardly pleasant ; not only what is agreeable
to man outwardly, but also what makes him inwardly more
and more glad. And this inner and actually religious
joy, small as it may appear, and seldom as it is attained,
is in reality the dimly felt reason of frecpienting the mar-
ket, the obscure inner groundwork of the child's joy and
pleasure in its variegated diversity. He who frequents
the market can select what is beautiful and useful, as it is
needed to foster the home-life. The little girl, the young
woman, the mother, the housewife, select the delicate,
the useful, and whatever is for their protection ; the boy,
the youth, the man, the father, select the powerful, the
strong ; the good is linked with the useful, and the beauti-
ful germinates, sprouts, grows from them ; the soft and
hard, the gentle and the strong, are joined in the most
beautifiil lil'e-harmony ; internal union blossoms out from
external symmetry and correspondences which lie side by
side, or jjerhaps, confusedly separated, reveal their recip-
rocal relations.
To anticipate the inner in the outer, union in separa-
tion, unity in diversity, the general in the special, to
perceive life in the picture and in the mirror, and to see
himself in the latter ; to learn to know the outer life, and
to find means to represent the inner individuality outside
of itself, — these form the foundation of the inner uncon-
scious attraction and impulse which the child feels in visit-
ing the market. Your child, if he is still actually a child,
is delighted to obtain a few e.xternal things, and turns
homeward from the market with the anticipation of his
heart fidfilled : whether it be by a doll or a wagon, a fife
or a lamb, he is satisfied if he can represent himself and
his world actively in and by the toy. For this reason,
visiting the market makes so forcible an impression on a
child for his development.
Go to the market with vour child, and there help him to learn,
This visit in his future life to good effect will turn.
THE CHURCH-DOOR, AND THE WINDOW OVER IT.
The fore-arms, placed as straight up and down as
possible, represent the door-posts ; and the hands turned
toward each other, and uniting above them, form a kind
of arch ; the four fingers of one hand are somewhat spread
out over the t'our fingers of the other hand, and thus rep-
resent a window over the door ; the two thumbs stand up
like little bell-towers.
.All freely worked out expressions of child-life are sym-
bols, and explain by outward appearances the inner being,
the inner foundation : hence the spiritual loveliness, the
thoughtfiil attractiveness, of all jjure, childish utterances.
190
What the child unconsciously and dimly anticipates
and seeks in the manifoldness of life, in which also he is
so easily mistaken, he feels therefore more deeply, and
lives more in union with, when it expresses to him life's
unity and harmony. The meeting for thought and coun-
sel begins to give him this idea, obtained not without
effort in the new step of development which has been
before explained. Hence the attractiveness for children,
of all assemblies, and especially of the assembling of
adults ; hence the attractiveness of the family church-
going when it has a true inner meaning and reference
to life. There is a development for the child in frequent-
ing the church: hence his real joy in going to church,
and which makes him unconscious of time. The cause of
this joy is not in the words which he hears spoken and
sung there, but in the fact that he can take a common
interest with the grown-up, and share in what is there
spoken and sung, and also in what is done ; it is also the
nourishing confirmation and partial explanation of the
presentiments and aspirations, the feelings and life, in
himself; it is unity, entrance into, and harmony in, joint
life.
But the question as to the words heard, and their
meaning, must be answered to the child, as he comes
out of the circle of his own experiences, feelings, and
notions, in his gradual spiritual development and increas-
ing spiritual needs. The play-song begins the explana-
tion. It hints at two distinct steps in the development
of the child, — a nearer and a farther, an earlier and a
Liter one. It is designed, thoughtful mother, to induce
you to examine what is said, and choose from it that
which is best calculated to develop and lead on your
child. But this thought is ever the most important, —
the fulfilment, strengthening, and confirmation of the
childish presentiments ; speaking to the child's heart, and
echoing in it, as clear, reflecting harmony does in life
itself, the thought of harmony and union with the foun-
dation, fountain, and unity of life ; with
The Life of all life,
The Light of all light.
The Love of all love,
The Good of all good, —
God!
THE LITTLE CHILD DRAWING.
This is what we see : Your beloved child sits as usual
on your lap. You draw, either with the forefinger of
your right hand or with that of your child, the simple
objects before you, in clear outlines in the air, or, better,
in sand thinly spread on a litde board ; or, if you wish,
and the child is sufficiently developed, on a slate. You
can begin with the sand, then advance to the slate, and
then to mere outlines in the air. Each of these ways is
founded on truth. Drawing in the air, as being a de-
cided movement, and one so full of significance, already
gives pleasure to your little child. Drawing has so much
attraction for him, and is so dear to him, because it is
the first attestation, and apparently so easy an expres-
sion, of the creative power which dwells in him. How
could it be otherwise, especialU- at the stage of develop-
ment to which we now suppose the child to have at-
tained? He has brought out manifoldness in himself;
he anticipates the life of the individual in the unity of
the manifold ; he carries thus already in himself a little
world, and he would like also to represent this world in
a manner proportioned to its strength, and which appears
easy to him, with the means at his command. Drawing
also takes the step from the perception to the representa-
tion of things. What the child already knows, what life
gives and lacks, that he depicts in the drawing, examin-
ing and classifying it, in order to be able to survey it, and
to choose the right and shun the wrong for his own future
needs in life. But, above all, he who would early recog-
nize the Creator must consciously employ his own crea-
tive power for representing the good ; because doing
good is the bond between the created and the Creator,
and doing good consciously is the conscious bond, the
true, life-full union of God and man ; the union with
God of the individual man, as well as of all humanity.
This union should therefore be the starting-point and
constant aim of all education.
EXPLANATIONS OF THE DRAWINGS ON THE
COVER.
The mother, the mother-love, the whole nature and
being of the mother, and her inner union with the child,
is the only true starting-point, the purest fountain, and
the surest foundation, of a careful human education. It
is only the mother, who, in her devout thought and spirit,
in her union with God, with equal love for both sexes of
humanity, that can early grasp and comprehend the indi-
viduality of each. Therefore on the front cover is rep-
resented the German mother as she lovingly, tenderly
holds in her arms, and carries leaning on her breast, the
budding humanity, in its twofold form of boy and girl.
She is represented as conscious of her nature, her vo-
cation, and her position, and therefore crowned with a
wreath of oak-twigs. The boy, as if moved by a first
intimation of the manlike spirit, stretches outward ; but
also, as if already anticipating the uniting inner sense,
the all-binding unity, he holds in his hand a string from
which a ball hangs, signifying strength and comprehending
all things in nature, revealing itself in them all as difficulty,
and in human nature <is love ; and thus he shows already
in childhood the strivmg and the fruit of human life.
131
In the depths doth truth abide ;
Clearness in union dotli reside.
If strength will always constant be,
It will reach its aim most certainly.
As the boy, according to his nature, reaches out from
Ills motlier's arms into the workl, so the httle girl, hke a
true (laugliter, clings to Ikt inulher. hugging her as tightly
as if to unite heart with lirart. Slie holds fast to the
mother's love and truth, and looks out from this place
of safety, in childish innocence, ingenuousness, and harm-
lessness, on the path of life strewn with thorny roses which
the mother is travelling, and which she herself must some
time travel, to the goal of iiumanity. The mother, feel-
ing deeply the difficulty of her task of developing two
su<h entirely different natures to their destined end by
her fostering, gazes upward, devoutly confident that she
will, by prayer, obtain insight and strength from the
father of mankind, who has caused two such opposite
natures to proceed from her.
And thus in the first child-tending appears in union a
loving, confiding, taithfid spirit, with reliant effort and
devout thought, — union with God.
The fostering of this trinity in the life of children, by
" Mother-love, mother-song, and niother-play,"
is also the special object of this book of plays and songs ;
and the artist would intimate symbolically, by the picture
on the front cover, the spirit, tiie fountain, of this first
fostering of childhood.
The other picture on the back cover will make sym-
bolically perceptible also what is next attained, and the
fruit of such fostering of childhood.
The scene, the arrangement, is wholly different. That
which was shown in the first picture as inicardly fostered,
steps forth in tiie secontl as oiitivardly active. What the
mother began, the father carries on ; what the mother at
first with thoughtfiil management fosters, that the father
with strong government brings out. He forms and leads
his children with the consciousness of an inward obligation
toivard the steep heights of life, on paths often rocky
and untravelled. Bearin ; in his breast protecting love
and strength, inwardly umte<l and cjuiedy moving, he
lifts his eyes on high with deepest thanks for the success
so far attained, and is filled with strong rapture at such
complete fulfilment of the mother's prayer. While the
daughter trustingly, confiding in his guidance, only fol-
lows him, the son eagerly pushes ahead of his father,
making an effort to attain even the last peak of the height.
The boy, from the first, requires all the mother's strength
to tend him, and therefore she carries him on her right
arm ; but the father must, on the contrary, early lead the
boy over the rocks of life which soon oppose barriers to
him. Therefore we see the father lead the boy, the son,
with his own /(■// hand, lightly grasping his son's hand,
leaving him more to himself and his own strength. 'I'he
httle girl, the daughter, on the contrary, as she grows up,
needs so much the more the mani)', the fatherly protec-
tion, on the unbroken as well as on the obstructed path
of life ; therefore we see the father's strong right hand
grasp that of the beloved daughter, who follows her
father, going on confidingly, reliant, and joyful, wherever
he may lead, even to the steepest heights of self-victory.
With ardor, but also with firm confidence, she clings to
the father's strong right hand, as she lovingly presses up
to him. The wings of his spirit, which, like eagle's wings,
were so often helmet and shield to him in the hard con-
flict of life, unt"old themselves in confirineci faith in God
to bear up to the Father of mankind the thanks ex-
pressed by manly, vigorous deeds. He so confidently
travels along the path of life, as in the future to see that
Devout feeling, clear thinking.
And noble doing, attain manhood, —
the goal which he carries in his heart, conscious of its
lofty nature, its manly strength and honor, and its high
vocation.
The two pictures, taken together, represent humanity :
a father and mother clearly conscious of themselves in
their children ; who, because conscious of being parents,
and guided by it, shall educate their children, and by
them also educate themselves, with the recognized means
here represented, through the fostering and cultivating of
inner and outer life, feeling devoudy, thinking clearly,
and acting nobly, toward their aiiii of peace, joy, and
freedom.
192
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